A tiny bit broken
by Aischenna
Summary: Hermione decided to hocus-pocus away the remaining scars of the war with tattoos before going back to Hogwarts for her eighth year - just as Draco Malfoy trying desperately to erase the Dark Mark from his skin. They met. Dramione. (complete)
1. In the tattoo salon

The war left there numerous wounds – waiting to be cured. Maybe, the worst were the wounds that never disappeared entirely. Even healed, they left traces on her skin, white slashes in general, but the ugliest was the bright red of the word carved in her skin, mudblood.

She would have done everything to have it disappeared of her body, but Bellatrix Lestrange did a good job – the dagger, which she craved the letters not just in her meat, but she swore she had even written them in her bones, was enchanted. The letters never scabbed, even after months it still sometimes leaked blood and hurt when something brushed against it.

She needed to roll up the sleeves of her shirts and polos to bear the pain on the worse days.

Maybe, that's why she ended up here, in the middle of Muggle London, in an old, battered tattoo salon where her former – muggle – classmates had their own tattoos made. She had seen some of them in one of the pubs, close to her parents' house; and their lot proudly bragged around with the arts sewn in their skin. So Hermione decided, she'd much rather have pretty arts on her skin for an eternity than ugly scars.

The tattoo artist seemed amused when she walked inside, head held up haughtily and eyes burning with determination. But still, the long months in the woods had taken its toll on her; she was skinny and boney. She wasn't that gracious not to have the artist's eyes humour her when looking at her.

She flat out said what she wanted and waited for the reaction. The tattoo artist just cocked a brow at her, waiting for her to continue. Hermione nearly rolled her eyes at her silliness – of course he waited, everybody who walked in here wanted a tattoo or two.

So she showed the ugly letters on her forearm and the artist winced, "Now, that'd be painful, chit."

She nodded in acknowledgement and showed some more scars, scars on her belly, on her shoulders, on her thighs and even one on her cheek. Each had different form, caused by different spells.

He fished out a notebook and asked her about designs, _did she want animals, something abstract or maybe quotes because she seemed like a chit like that_. Maybe, that's why she flat out refused even the idea of fancy quotes, asking for an animal that clearly wasn't mythical over Bellatrix's handiwork and maybe something abstract, perhaps the constellations over some of her scars. Satisfied with her answer, the faceless tattoo artist started to work.

After twenty minutes, he looked up from her work, showing her a sketch that was beautiful enough to make her breath hitch. It was better than she ever dared to hope. Though she didn't show it, she just nodded approvingly, as if being wary of it. Still, that looked so much better than that slur over her skin.

She asked it to be colourful, and he gave her one more warning, "It'd take longer, chit."

When he asked about constellations, Hermione helped him – Astronomy was still one of her best subjects, then again, which wasn't? She wanted Aquarius, the Canis Minor, the Ursa Major that was perfect on the scars on her side. She ended up with all off the Zodiacs and Ophiucus, and even Draco's constellation. And still, she had a few more to think about – she had too many scars to cover.

In the end, the faceless artist couldn't resist not to ask, "Abusive parents?"

Hermione merely shook her head, slightly shocked from his bluntness, "Classmates."

Satisfied with all the constellations, the artist turned back to the animal, working on the lines of the feathers, fixing delicate neck of the animal, and the way it held itself, gracious and demanding attention – like royalty.

She watched him work and didn't even realise it had been more than two hours since she walked in the salon. After choosing from the colours of the rainbow, the artist showed her the whole image with a grin, eyes twinkling in a friendly way, "Now now, better than 'mudblood' whatever it means, doesn't it?"

Before she could have answered, the bell chimed.

"Malfoy?"

She hurriedly excused herself, the amused smile melting down from her lips immediately. The blonde just merely nodded to her direction, before greeting the artist in front of her. No sneer, no snarky comment fell from his mouth, no visible sight of disgust did she spot in his body language as chatted with the muggle man about tattoos.

She put on her jacket in rush, careful about the fabric not to brush against her left forearm. It was definitely one of the worse days.

Before grabbing the handle of the entrance door, she heard the artist ask Malfoy, "Bad decision?"

She had no doubt what they were talking about – she even felt his eyes linger on her back as he answered to him, "Very."

She fled the place.

* * *

 _Hi there! First dramione in years, and definitely the very first in English. Though I'm curious, what do you think? It'd mean me a great deal if you wrote even a 'mediocre' in the review box. But 'good' is always prefered, if we're on critiques! ;D This snippets come commonly, if according to plan!_


	2. The deputy Head Boy

It was good to be back on the train after two years. It was familiar and refreshing even more than usually with no dark shadows looming around. No more Voldemort, or Horcruxes, or Death Eaters for that matter.

Even just the thought made her muscles relax. However, it was all in vain as the silent, questioning eyes followed her everywhere as if the youngers were terrified of having her wand to their throats. It was silly, really.

Harry and Ron didn't come back, just Ginny, Luna and Neville from their squad, though she'd run into others from their year when she got on the train, Hannah Abbott, and Susan Bones, Ernie McMillan and Lisa Turpin all were there, not to mention the herd of Slytherins, Parkinson, Zabini, Malfoy with his only remaining body guard and the Greengrass sisters. They seemed to have some fun, together.

It was weird to see smiles all over the platform; everyone seemed to be able to smile beside her.

Stroking the lines of her newest addition of tattoo arsenal absently, she decided to walk to the Prefect's compartment, being this year's deputy Head Girl. Solitude was still better than listening to meaningless stories of her friends. Lavender Brown still had her spirit despite spending two months in St. Mungo's intensive care unit and she didn't stopped babbling about her heroic Won-Won in the last thirty minutes. It may or may not hit a nerve in Hermione – she'd been there during the war, thank you very much.

While walking around, she wondered why McGonagall established a position such as deputy Heads. She found out about it five weeks ago – two days after running into Malfoy in Muggle London – and still was unsure her decision of accepting it.

McGonogall made no sense with this action – well, besides making sure that she and her partner (deputy) Head Boy not feel left out after years of hard work to get the post. Because they did deserved the position! She was sure about it, even though she had just a vague idea who the deputy Head Boy was.

Her guess didn't prove to be wrong – just as she predicted. It was far too clear when catching the sight of the oh-so-familiar bright blonde locks inside the Prefect's compartment. Malfoy.

He sat there, graceful, like some kind of big feline; dabbing his long fingers over his knee while reading, leaning to the back rest. She couldn't not to notice how different he seemed – calmer and more organised than she had seen him in the last two years. There was no sign of exhaustion, no dark circles around his eyes.

They were alone in the compartment – being more than a half hour before the others –, so Hermione seated herself comfortably opposite him without a second thought. He immediately put down the book, and nodded to her, his marvellous eyes never leaving hers.

She mirrored his actions, murmuring inwards how she didn't notice the perfect quicksilver of his irises before. They were spectacular, like some kind of jewels adorning his face. And definitely not haunted – tired yes, but definitely not like in their sixth year.

"Hope you had better holidays, Granger," he greeted, eyes studying her intensively.

"Better?" she cocked a brow at him, just like she had seen him doing a same. It seemed he also recognised the gesture – his eyes twinkled with mischief.

"Better than mine, anyway," he shifted a little, "I wanted to ask. What did you end up with in the salon? I mean, if you had ended up with something," he offered as a subject to roll their conversation further.

Hermione nibbled on her lips as she debated over answering and what she should show him from the numerous things that were now on her skin. She decided in the end with a light shake of her head, pulling her bushy hair backwards; she let him see the tattoo that started on the side of her cheek and ended just under her ear.

His eyes widened, clearly recognising the pattern. How could he not? He was named after this constellation, after all.

He hurriedly picked up his book to hide his blush, the formerly pale face had never seemed so lively in Hermione's opinion ever before. It was adorable and different – the good way different and more human in her perspective.

She narrowed her eyes humorously at him, the mocking glint never leaving from her hazel irises.

* * *

 _Hey there! Thank you for all the amazing responses (hope we can keep the numbers up!) - you gave me a lot of ideas and I ended up expanding the whole story!_

 _BTW I've just found out that tomorrow the whole family is to go skiing - and my parents forgot to tell me. Before going to get myself - possibly - killed, I thought I would give you this chapter. Hope you had fun! ;D If according to plan, next snippet is due to Saturday/Sunday (only if I'm still alive)._


	3. Blurred lines

She flinched when somebody dropped down next to her in Potions – giving her an instant heart attack that is. When she looked to the side she didn't even try to muster surprise on her face. It was the only and unforgettable Draco Malfoy. Really, who else?

Nodding to him in greetings, she looked back to the end of the classroom – the other Slytherins lounging in the very back, and secluded from other students. No other Draco Malfoy beside them. Huh, eerie.

A tipsy Pansy Parkinson guffawed on a clearly pissed Blaise Zabini's shoulder who struggled not to fall under their table. Theodore Nott was nowhere to be seen – probably the only sensible one as he didn't risk being caught drunk in the middle of their first school day. And despite all that, here he was, Draco Malfoy who rather chose her company over his friends'.

There was definitely something going on.

Just when she opened her mouth to ask, the hard liquor's scent hit her head like a club, "Are you drunk too?" she hissed, her disapproving gaze drilling holes through his skull with its intensity, though he didn't seem to mind.

"Tsch...," he mumbled back, his tongue getting tangled even though he hadn't even said any real words, yet. "We had some frun yest— yerday..."

Her fingers squeezed around the quill. _Oh, he had the gall!_

" _Frun_ that last until daybreak?" He nodded, his eyes dilated and unfocused. "Oh gosh, Malfoy, you're deputy Head! Do you plan on embarrassing us furthermore?"

He tilted his head to the side dumbly while his plain blonde brows knotted in thought, thick, blonde locks falling over his eyes, "Don't use words hard, Granger," he asked her with the eyes of an abandoned puppy.

Even though it was barely coherent, Hermione managed to understand his slurred speech – thanks to the consequences of being a Gryffindor she was kind of used to translating the drunkards' words into something understandable during the parties. She had just never thought she would use that skill of hers on outsiders like Malfoy.

"Why sitting in the first row then, Malfoy?" she questioned swiftly, looking at the clock. They had three minutes to chat before the lesson started.

She leaned back to their bench, dropping her hawk quill in exasperation and her eyes locked with his. She realized – they were even more beautiful now, they were shining like polished grey diamonds. Then came the shocking thought - she liked them.

"Got a bet with Zambi— bini goin' on. He thought I can't shurvive Sluggher," he tried to articulate but failed miserably, not that it would have disturbed him anyway. His gaze dropped down and he was unable to hold her stare hence his head fell forward. "Hey what ya' got 'ere, Grangers!" he smirked, his big hand tugging at the hem of her skirt, "You have tanra—lizing thighs."

She slapped his shameless fingers.

"If you do keep going on, you won't need Slughorn to lose that bet."

"Oh, got new tattoo 'ere!" he enthused, ignoring her words as he was a way too focused on her legs. He managed to get their whole class' attention.

Not that they weren't looking beforehand, per say – they just threw caution to the midair and openly stared at the weird pair in the front row by now.

"Show me!" he demanded and his fingers were back, tugging and doing the finger-man, stalking up and down on the top of her skin, rolling up her skirt as more of the ink became visible.

She shivered from the unfamiliar sense – it was new and enticing, even though she was afraid to confess it to herself.

"Scorpius now?" he asked with squinting eyes while intensively studying the pattern.

Hermione nodded, extremely embarrassed as she slipped away from him, to the other edge of the bench, her right thigh barely on the wood. She needed to keep her distance!

However her efforts meant little as somehow Malfoy was – _yet again!_ – straight next to her at the end of the lesson, undisturbed and delusional, lounging comfortably in his drunken stupor.

* * *

 _I survived! ;D Thank you for your kindness! In exchange for this bliss, write a review. Yeah, it's a command straight from Mr. Malfoy to you fools!_


	4. Lilac remedy

Her hands trembled as she tried to reach out for the blasted lilac potion. Her blurred vision did not help the slightest – the little phial ended up on the floor as she missed the glass' neck for the third time.

Her uncontrollable sobs became louder in her ears as she desperately sought for more of the remedy – without the drug, the worse days were beyond her endurance. The numbness lessened her pain and every time she took the potion that Harry had found it in Snape's old text book, it made it easier to bear.

Not that the damn letters let her have that craved numbness that easily!

They felt like burning on her arm as they leaked maroon blood, so deep red that it resembled brown. Brown like mud.

Her eyes widened in realization as a sob escaped from the tight lock of her teeth. Pain that was burning and expanding like wildfire within her veins was hard to ignore. She was just thankful for the muting spell that she had casted on her bed at the beginning of the year. At least her room mates couldn't hear her whines whenever this happened.

The aches were worse than nightmares of any kind.

They came in tremors, suddenly and without any fore signs. One moment everything was fine, and the next she knew she was on the floor, wailing in pain like a dying animal. Mrs. Weasley tried a lot of clever tricks and even Percy looked for _something_ to help her during the summer – but it seemed none were match to a crazed Bellatrix's turn of mind.

"Enough," she sobbed, her hoarse dry and her entire body covered in perspiration. "Enough!" The hysteria erupted from her lungs however it did nothing to ease the pain – it felt like it had even heightened it. She felt the empty tears surge down on her cheekbones, leaving a hot trail after them which were like gasoline to the fire.

"Enough!" she boxed in her pillow as it muffled her cries, her potion on the floor, long forgotten. Hermione wanted to survive this night, and nothing else.

It was like Bellatrix's soul had stuck to this land just to torture her further – she could swear she heard her sniggers in her ears as she tried to coax information out of her mouth, but only receiving fervent cries and shrieks. In her tired mind she could feel that horrid woman's boney fingers playing over her body, – like it was a bloody _piano_! – her claws grazing her tender skin, just enough to draw some blood out.

She was shaking in fear, seeing the bitch's smirking face in front of her eyes.

"Hermione!"

She felt cold fingers clung to her wrists and the panic swelled in her chest. She was unable to see through the veil of tears in front of her eyes, "No! No, no, no! I won't tell anything Lestrange!"

She clawed Bellatrix, kicked and pushed to get away. She tried to punch her with hands that felt powerless and were uncontrollable.

Her shrieks muted when she felt the burning go away – an entire goblet of ice cold water did the deal for her as she peered up at her 'attacker' with eyes of a deer caught in headlight.

"Lavender?" she sat up immediately, letting her bloodied hands down that still held the girl's wrists in it. The deputy Head Girl looked away in shame, unable to meet with the worrying hazels, her wet hair sticking to her face pitifully. "I'm sorry."

Lavender shook her head as if this all would have been nothing to her, "You were crying Hermione, and scratching your own skin. I heard something hit the floor when I woke up," she let out a little sigh, "I'm... worried for you, 'Mione."

Hermione just listened to her with half of her mind, "Hit the floor? The potion!" and she bent down from her position, pulling the four-poster's heavy drapes to the side in panicked rush, but didn't see the phial on the hard wood parquet of their room.

"Hermione!" Lavender snapped at her, squeezing her shoulders with a hand as she shook her. She hissed at her, the aches in her body still not subdued – Lavender seemed to notice it as she removed her hand from her skin at the same moment. "It's here," she chided and before the other could snatch it out of her hold she took a step back and sat on the bed, out of Hermione's arm reach without climbing through the mountain made from her Gryffindor-maroon bedding.

Hermione scowled.

"You should talk about it with someone," Lavender said, offering her help with a blatant hint. However, it did little to persuade the brunette.

"I first need my potion."

"It will knock you out."

 _Now, now, she actually has something to work with_ – Hermione snickered inwardly as she started to dry her hair with her wand, and clear away the blood from under her nails.

The actions weren't even _that_ strange for the two girls.

As she was preoccupied with _scourgify_ she thought about her offer. Hermione appreciated her gesture, really did, but Lavender was not the person she would like to tell this particular story. Knowing her, she would just blab it out accidentally as she was the uncrowned queen of the Hogwarts' gossip mill. And Hermione didn't want that.

Trying to find an easy way to get away with this conversation, the sudden idea materialised in her mind as she blurted out her next words without consideration, but when saying the words, she knew she had just lost a friend with it.

"Then are you ready to talk about Dolohov?"

Even in the poor lighting she could see Lavender's face drain of blood as she paled to the colour of a whitewashed wall. She visibly gulped and jumped on her feet immediately, throwing the craved phial at Hermione as she fled from their room, before she could utter an 'I'm sorry'.

Biting her lips, she wondered – Lavender wasn't ready to talk. She, also, wasn't ready.

Were they ever going to be ready?

Her teeth sank deeper in her lip before getting a sip from the lilac potion. It'd give her enough time to calm down – she would miss Transfiguration though, but it was still less of a problem than face the war's traces once more.

So she slept, glad for the dreamless night. The first in a fortnight.

* * *

 _Thoughts on this one? ;D_


	5. Insight

He pinched the bridge of his nose out of frustration as he stared down the unintelligible mass of words on his parchment. For fuck's sake, he was far too old for doing homework! He hadn't been in the two last years, why should take this habit up yet again?

Very annoyed, Draco Malfoy crumpled his assignment to toss it in trash bin. It was a game he liked – trying to throw thing after thing in the bin was better than doing his damned Transfiguration homework. McGonagall – the old wench, unaltered –, still liked to make her students suffer. They survived a damned war! Sure as heck they didn't need the knowledge of transfigurating a chair to a settee! They can live their life through without that lesson!

And they most certainly shouldn't need to write an essay of fifteen inches of the whole process!

He sighed and leaned back to the backrest of his cushioned, ocean green armchair, dropping his head back.

However, he resisted the urge of closing his eyes, instead, he rolled them. Yes, Draco Malfoy was fucking _afraid_ of closing his eyes. Heck, he was terrified from closing his eyes!

Clap clap! Sometimes even _he_ can do the 'honesty _-_ thing.'

Not interested in self-irony, he concentrated on the grey of their low ceiling, seeking quirked cracks on it. Better than seeing a madman's red eyes in front of himself, thank you very much!

Draco shuddered, even just the memory of those eyes – which he remembered vividly. He would most probably never be able to forget them and their bearer, and the horror he – _it?_ – caused in his life, to family and classmates.

He remembered when in the tender year of fifteen he boldly looked into those fireballs, right before his father pushed his head down only to mutter in his ear: ' _show some respect_ '. Show some respect, right, show some respect to the sick bastard sitting in _our_ dining room like a king on his thrones, little Draco. That's your _obligation_ to the Malfoy name!

He snorted at his thoughts – but his rebellion meant nothing now.

It was the night when he received the Dark Mark and learned a special lesson: his father was right... He was to respect His Snakeness or otherwise. Of course, the _or_ _otherwise_ meant a right load of Cruciatus. He still shuddered whenever the dreams made him relive those moments of pure agony.

He sucked in breath through the tight lock of his teeth as he massaged his forehead, trying hard not to see that kind of hell yet again, even when he was awake.

He learned things in their company, beside the most feared Death Eaters – control of his terrible temper, humiliation and some more dark spells, not to mention, he'd perfected Legilimency. That was the only good in the mass of bad.

At first he used it with more caution than anything he was in possession of, then – after the war – he dared to sneak a peek in his mother's mind. It was the day of Lucius' trial, in the morning and Narcissa bore a stoic face throughout the morning. Draco saw the fine china tremble in her hands and counted her calming breaths, but he was sure she was on the verge of cracking.

So he checked it in her mind. Tenderly and untraceably, he let the magic flow as they locked eyes.

He saw an intense picture of his parents – one that he'd never dared to imagine. He always thought his father was heartless and ice cold; well, until seeing the moment with Lucius sobbing himself to oblivion on his mother's lap.

He immediately looked away, but he didn't know if it was shame or in embarrassment that he felt, and after that didn't try Legilimency on his mother in the next two months. Lucius still had trials, even nowadays as a lot of things were unclear to the Ministry and they took their time with observing his case, media and politic involved in the process. He was a public figure even if his shine had been tainted and even if he was a right bastard – but even know, he held control in his hands thanks to the infamous Malfoy galleons.

So he tried Legillimency once more on his mother before leaving her at home – but what he saw was enough to make him think. His father couldn't be that bad if all those were true, right?

There were pictures of tender embraces, fond, warning touches, tiny snippets that he had not noticed in the flow of the years between his parents. And he found that his father's sobbing sessions were... still in practice, whenever Lucius was allowed to go home for a mere of twenty-four hours.

Draco even found the very first memory of this in his mother's head after a little of prying. Narcissa – that time – was still bearing him under her heart, and his father – not minding her massive belly – hugged his heavily pregnant wife, with big tears rolling down on his cheeks as he muttered to the little, unborn baby Draco. His mother – being all so hormonal – cried with him out of mirth that her husband was finally back at home.

It happened on the night when his father became a Death Eater. And Lucius knew he was mistaken. Immediately.

Draco got hold of himself as he shook his thoughts out of his head. He glanced down at his engraved, gold pocket watch. It was well over midnight. Great. One more wasted time of doing nothing. Not even homework.

He snorted as he climbed in his bed, getting rid of his clothes during his stumbling to the craved bed. He tried to shut out how he was afraid to see the bloodied eyes as he got comfortable under the thick duvet of emerald green.

He didn't manage.


	6. Drunkards in the dungeons

It had not even been a week since their incident in Potions – now it happened again. During her patrol on next Wednesday's evening, she could not help but notice a very high group of Slytherins, having numerous bottles of butterbeer in stocks – which was probably spiked with Firewhiskey – because there was no way they had got that smashed purely because of butterbeer. That would be absurd.

"Have your lot been sober in this term yet?" she asked harshly which ended their light conversation immediately.

Daphe Grengrass – with Tracy Davis on the side – tried to melt into the alcove where she was sitting while Pansy Parkinson – not so effectively – used Nott to hide her existence from her curious, stinging eyes. Goyle squirmed at the corner, while the other three troublemakers didn't show any signs of fear toward her however she still did feel their reluctance flit in the air.

Then the ice mood suddenly took a 180 turn – with a very drunk Blaise Zabini nearly knocking her down with an excessive war cry of happiness: "Granger!" And he did the most unexpected thing of all – deliriously nuzzled his head to her cheek.

It was an entirely new level of weird. Absurd. Surreal. Unfanthomable.

She effectively showed off the idiot and stepped away before he could launch himself on her yet again.

"You do know that I can get your house points in minus easily, right?"

They nodded instead of shaking their heads – probably in fear that it would make the aisles spin around their axis.

So Hermione Granger ignored their steady answer with a scowl. She did not have any energy to deal with drunkards at eleven o'clock. Not to mention her patrolling partner was only a few corners away, if he – _god forbid!_ – saw them, the Slytherins would get into a bigger trouble, that even their galleons couldn't handle. Not to mention that it'd most probably involve McGonogall, Slughorn, and with that, her precious hours of sleep would be reduced to zero.

And she definitely didn't want that.

So this left her one choice really – help the idiots in their common room and hoping that they stay there for the next few hours at least.

When she opened her mouth to speak, she noticed how her classmates did no effort to be quiet, they started conversing from the very beginning – _about ducks. Ducks!_ – as if her presence was nothing but meaningless.

"Malfoy! Zabini! Nott!" she barked at the three men as they dazedly looked at her direction, Blaise still lying on the floor, nearly getting his head twisted in the position. "You threw that mess," she pointed at the abandoned, empty bottles lying on the cool stone of the corridor, "you clean it up. Now!"

They grumbled some more as they bent down on knees, to get the bottles as Zabini just reached out and pulled the clashing bottles to his chest, protectively hugging them as if the world depended on them. He played that he was a mama duck and protected his offspring.

"Oh Merlin," she sighed as she used her wand to levitate to her all the bottles, even taking them away from the men's, to Blaise's chagrin – he whined for his babies pathetically, "You're wizards!"

"We're aware," chirped Parkinson, now from behind Goyle as Nott was still on the floor, trying to get Zabini to standing position with a grumbling Malfoy added to the mix.

She smiled at her hardly visible black locks, that just reached an inch above Goyle's robust shoulders, "And I hope you know Parkinson that you're all out after curfew. I should report you to McGonogall at that instant."

"But you won't," came Malfoy's baritone straight from near her ear. She stepped away hurriedly, intimidated by his close proximity, trying not to think how he scared her to the core. Damn him! Even drunk, he was able to sneak up upon her easily and make her heart flutter!

His infamous smirk was in place as he squinted down at her, his cocky demeanour intact.

"I'm willing to bargain," she confirmed after a few long breaths.

The grins, the Slytherins were sporting, were way too wide for somebody that had no understanding of their environment.

"What do you want," Daphne asked as she emerged, Pansy helping the blonde with offering her delicate hand for her. She smiled at her gratefully. Tracy Davis stumbled to her feet all by herself which impressed Hermione – after that amount of alcohol she'd be reduced to a hysterically laughing mess, uncharacteristically complaining about the too much homework.

"Hogwarts: a History's first edition? Jewellery? Ogden's Finest?" guessed Nott absently, holding up the blabbering Blaise Zabini all by himself.

She was tempted to say yes to the book, but she realized they wouldn't get her point and would just continue on with their nightly activity where they left off, giving her more headache and waste more of her time.

"Just tell us, Granger," Malfoy purred flirtatiously, his shining grey diamonds looking at her with a familiar intensity, however he didn't say anything inappropriate. He wouldn't need to anyway – his gaze spoke for itself.

At least he didn't dare touch her this time.

Hermione narrowed her eyes without humour, "Tranquillity," she snapped.

And with that she went to the direction where she came from, leaving the Slytherins to do their own business by themselves, not interested in their survival of alcohol poisoning.

Little did they know about the Rawenclaw prefect who had seen the whole exchange.

* * *

 _Thank you for all the reviews guys! ;D I dare hope we can keep up the numbers! And sorry for still not answering for reviews, I'll I swear. In this week. For sure._

 _Also, I got some questions about Hermione's state of mind and her willingness of speaking about her trauma. Well, next snippet is partly about that. Be prepared! ;D_


	7. In front of the fire

She didn't manage to slip off before the interrogation – thought Ginny had lost her the minute she was out of Great Hall, but Neville knew better; he was in her heels until he was able to confront her in the Gryffindor common room right before their first lesson, Charms.

"Hermione!" he called out.

She scowled, but was careful not to have Neville see it. She continued on, praying inwardly to finally reach the girl dormitories' staircase without seeming too desperate to avoid Neville.

She didn't manage as Neville grabbed her wrist and tugged on it, but still giving her the opportunity to just flee way. With a sigh Hermione decided against it – this conversation was bound to happen with either of her friends.

"Care to explain?" he asked in a tone so tender that it softened her determination. Even just from this she knew that he really did care for her – so she nodded rigidly and sat down in front of the fire with calm heart.

Her gaze never left the flickering flames as she was mesmerized by their beauty. Their warmth relaxed her muscles and she enjoyed it dearly. School made her so stiff and exhausted.

He spoke out of the blue, shyly and afraid not to make her angry with his words, "Are you... friends with them?" he dared with pleading eyes.

Hermione pulled up her knees to tightly hug them to her chest before answering, "More like distant acquaintances. Like you. Or Ginny. But nothing more, really."

"Why did you help them?"

Ouch. Now this was forward.

She peered up at him with what she believed to be the most innocent eyes of a little girl, "Because they needed guidance?"

This seemed to snap the scale to the side. Definitely not for her advances – she thought when seeing Neville's eyes flare.

"When they were smashed and hardly able to stand on their two feet? Merlin Hermione, the whole school knows their little escapades by now! And they labelled you as their good-doer! A guardian!" he exasperated and ran his fingers through his dark hair, desperate to get his point through her infamously stubborn skull.

She shrugged, "I was labelled mudblood before."

Without looking at him, she knew what he felt his stomach churn at her words. Hech, even her stomach churned! He was ashamed as he looked away from her, goose-bumps evident on his skin.

She didn't dare add that good-doer and guardian was still better than the latter.

"You shouldn't say that."

She nodded in acknowledgement. After all, she knew that this was one of the dirtiest cards in her possession however she couldn't resist using it. She needed to distance herself, especially from sweet, naive Neville. He still didn't see the colour between white and black.

She saw as he glanced down on her covered left hand and she made sure to move it away from his line of sight. He may not know for sure what was carved there, but he probably had a good idea about it.

"Why do you keep... squirming away, Hermione?" he asked, his tone soft and comforting, eyes radiating warmth, "You never sit with us at breakfast, always in the library and all you do is going to classes. It's not... healthy, Hermione."

She scowled, knowing what he wanted to say. ' _It's not normal_.' However she answered him without actually giving answer to his question, "I have to study."

He repeated the motion of running his fingers through his hair as he snorted in disbelief, "Can't you just... trust in us?"

She smiled bitterly and turned back to the fire, her hands running up and down on her legs absent-mindedly. "Trust who, Neville? There're plenty of people who still look down on me, and we fought a bloody war against this ideology. I was told in third year that because my magic is not that ancient in my blood, therefore I'm unable to get Divination right. Professor Flitwick was actually surprised, because I got Wingardium Leviosa at first try despite being a muggle-born. Now, do you think that's fair? After all these years, I'm tired of proving myself."

When she lifted her head to lock eyes with Neville, she could easily spot the nervousness and cluelessness swirling in his dark irises. He tried to understand - but both knew that was impossible for him.

Biting her lip, she ended up saying, "Maybe I shouldn't say that, but I couldn't change that fact. Anything, but that."

And with that, she marched down for Charms on auto-pilot, blind to her surrounding, and with spiking tears glistening in her eyes. She escaped.


	8. Pigwidgeon's delivery

Snuggled in her favourite alcove with a soft blanket in utter tranquillity, she lifted the next book on her fifth tower as the last thirty-six helped nothing. Hermione sighed and turned the first few pages about the writer.

She stated to think her efforts were all wasted – as if Hogwarts had just light and pink magic printed in all those books... She'd checked the restricted section of the library more than ten times already, and beside that three stocks near the stock of astronomy maps and books, full of healing spells, there was no more about dark artefacts.

Nothing. Just like... wosh! Not a single, random piece of information that she could track the others down. It was like the teachers had vanished everything about evil – not even leaving a puzzle open for capable students, like Dumbledore liked to do so.

It was troubling.

She pinched her lips together as tightly as she could while she tried to think about some kind of solution to her problem. All she knew that she was searching for a dagger, dark artefact probably, with some kind of venom steeped in the metal that caused hallucinations and extreme level of pain, maybe fever too – and was totally for longer term.

That's all. And even when she managed to find something that's description matched with hers, the artefacts were sure to be either lost, on the other side of the globe, in a museum or under muggle-supervision.

She dropped her current leather-bound, heavy textbook about magically enchanted swords in disappointment. It's started with Excalibur and she was sure she'd read this book in her fourth year already.

There was nothing in the Britain's biggest library about Bellatrix's dagger. Therefore she had no chance to heal the carving – which decided to bleed today yet again, so was wrapped tightly in gauze –, and have a tattoo made over it.

She bit in her lip as she reached for another book – now from the astronomy pack. She opened the second one – _Constellations and their Magical History_. She still had four more scars that needed and could be covered, and as she was determined to at least have one more decided.

Before she truly could indulge in Europa and Zeus' escapade and the birth of the Taurus constellation, she heard knocking on the glass window near her. With dreamy eyes she looked up to see an irritated Pigwidgeon.

She knotted her eyebrows and opened the upper window to let the hooting owl in. The little bird dropped two letters in her lap before taking off again, not waiting for answer as if afraid of staying too long.

With a shrug, Hermione grabbed both eagerly, suspecting who were the writers of those. On the letter's front she found her name in Harry's bold and sudden handwriting and without a second glance at the other, she broke the wax.

 _Hermione,_

 _I'm sorry for not writing in the mean time, the Auror training is exhausting and even there, we got a tone of homework... It's bloody annoying! A man would think when out of school he'd not receive any more of essays and here it is: the example! Also, have you got any idea what could the Draught of Living Death cause in animal's anatomy? I've even looked it up at Grimmauld Place and nothing helped. You're my only hope!_

 _Recently, me and Ron had the luck of getting special training, that's why we will be away for a few month – we're going to Germany, don't worry! Expect us back to New Years!_

 _Hope you're doing well! Tell us everything, what's going on in the Gryffindor tower?_

And with scratches, both boys left their signatures on the bottom of the parchment.

With a smile she put the letter in her bag, careful not to get it crumpled at the edges. She always put their letters away to keep it as a memory for worse times.

She would have turned back to reading but saw the other piece of parchment – wet and the ink of the italic, swimming letters smeared on the edges. Hermione lifted it, studying the writing cautiously – but still unable to determine who wrote that. Not Harry or Ron, that was for sure.

With narrowed eyes, she tried her fingers on the ink, and was surprised to see her black fingertips. There was no way it came from the Burrow or Grimmauld Place for that matter. Pigwedgeon must have got caught and...!

She shook her head in denial – no one was mental enough for this. But she was still unsure about the note in her hands, saying only two words:

 _Thank you._

With a shrug she dropped it in her bag too, near the letter and pulled up her reading material. It was simpler than worrying about complex conspiracy theories that were ridiculous even to her. Who wanted to hijack an owl anyway? Especially to thank her something she didn't even know about?

Her amused snort suppressed her laughter as she stuck her nose in the book once more.

Little did she know about the herd of Slytherin men groaning pitifully on Hogwarts' grounds, their skin covered in owl bites and hair full of feathers. Not to mention their expensive, now muddy robes.

* * *

 _Next chapter will have Pansy. Also, thank you for your support guys, it's always exciting to read your thoughts upon chapters! ;D_

 _And, if you still don't know - I have a tumblr account, under the same username like in here - so Aischenna, that is. Also, I've not been sleeping in the last few days. Damn Attack on Titan. I totally remarathoned it. Sorry. I just needed to tell._


	9. The flask of Draco Malfoy

She was behaving strange.

Pansy Parkinson did not do any other thing throughout the whole Herbiology lesson than coughing and wobbling. By now even Professor Sprout started worrying for the Slytherin as she supported herself with the help of her far more stabile Pickering Palm. The plant seemed appalled that someone was using it for lean on as it squirmed uncomfortably under the plus weight.

Hermione tried to pay attention to the lesson, but was unable to tear her eyes away from the former Slytherin prefect. She may have been drunk yet again – she started mumbling to the tree in the last four minutes in a slurry voice, which was, indeed, really weird.

With a sigh, she lifted her hand and asked Sprout, "Can I get Miss Parkinson to the Infirmary? She seems to have some problems."

She received a nod, and not bothered by their classmates' curious eyes – especially not by Neville's as he gawked at her much like in a starving vulture's manner –, Hermione marched to the other girl. She pulled her away from the irritated plant before it started striking them and with receiving no help from the moaning, barely conscious girl, she got out of the Second Green House.

"Momma...," Parkinson whined, her dreamy eyes sticking to Hermione's brown curls as they jumped with each of their hurried steps.

She seemed enticed by the motion and even lifted her hand to touch it, head tilted to the side.

"Imma dizzy...," and before Hermione could even comprehend, Pansy was vomiting directly at the rose bush they were walking by.

"Good god," Hemione groaned as she held Pansy's head by the hair in the right angle, not to cause more problems to the poor drunkard.

It seemed to help her as the alcohol induced fog practically faded from her eyes. She was sitting on her legs, hands grasping in the grass as she locked eyes with the reprimanding hazels of Hermione. She'd learned it from Mrs. Weasley, no doubt.

"Are you feeling better?"

Parkinson scowled at her, while, probably, not the least enjoying the foul taste left in her mouth. She answering Hermione reluctantly, "What do you think, Granger?"

"Great, you got your sarcasm on spot," the deputy Head Girl stated rigidly and dragged the other woman on her two feet, not giving her time for objections, "But it's clear you still need some time to entirely sober up. We're going to Myrtle's bathroom." Without waiting for answers, she pulled the still wobbly Pansy behind her, climbing the stairs as if there was no force able to stop her.

"Not to the Infirmary? "

"Do you wish to be expelled?" she raised a delicate eyebrow and Pansy looked away, not giving any answer to the rhetorical question.

It was hard to climb up all the staircases as they needed two breaks between each levels – Parkinson was in poor condition and extremely exhausted. When they – finally – entered the bathroom Myrtle bellowed at them and Hermione needed to hush her away while Pansy emptied her stomach yet again.

In front of the mirror, Pansy splashed some water on her face before sitting down on the cold tile, her back to the wall as she panted. Hermione sat with her, even if she couldn't help much, she'd be there should something worse happen.

"Thank you, Granger," she nodded her head in acknowledgement and gave a tissue to the black haired woman, who took it gracefully. Not that she would make it heard all across Hogwarts. "Though, you should stop with your charity project."

She knotted her brows in confusion, "You mean about the house elves?"

Pansy snorted in disbelief, "About the Slytherins, Granger. We're inferior, according to common belief. Everyone's moody, thanks to that. Draco was even jinxed because of it for a few occasions. The girls stuck in their dormitories as some boy caught Tracy alone and pulled her in an alcove. Even if inferior, we're good for whores. If it wasn't for Goyle... Tracy...," and she shook her head, unable to continue on.

Hermione looked down, studying the pattern of the tiles, trying not to imagine herself in Davis' situation, "That's... terrible, really. Can I get the names?" When Parkinson looked at her like she was dull, Hermione added, "The name of the bullies. Maybe there's something..."

Pansy grimaced, "Charity. Stop it already," and with this, she took out a flask from her robe's inner pocket, ready to down it in one go.

"Are you mental?" Hermione squeaked, ripping the metal case away from her clutch. She could be careless about the fine patterns and beautiful – handmade, no doubt – etching on the material as she cried out when feeling it heating to the point that it burned her skin.

Hermione threw the fancy flask away. It landed on the hard stone with a loud clash that seemed to shake their silence.

She looked up at the dumbstruck Pansy who had her eyes open to the point that it looked painful, "I'm sorry Granger."

"You're not yourself, Parkinson," she barked back as she tried to cool her hands, firing some healing spells on her injured skin. It helped nothing – so she gritted her teeth and bore the pain without whining. She didn't dare think about the real reason why it did burn her skin and why it did not Pansy's.

But the Slytherin was fast to provide her with answers.

Parkinson let out a shaky breath before starting a ramble. It felt endless to Hermione's ears as she tried to shut the majority out of her mind.

"I shouldn't have pulled it out! It... that flask's Draco's. Been in his family for probably forever. I... I stole it from him yesterday, when he was sleeping... or rather unconscious from the whiskey," she confessed and glanced at Hermione's puffed up, red skin. "As it seems it has some spells on."

Hermione bit in the inside of her cheek, "Spells against mudbloods," she concluded with a small voice, gulping down the bile that rose in her throat.

"As it seems," Pansy agreed, unable to meet her eyes. "I should go," she said and was on her two feet immediately, ready to storm away, before Hermione grabbed her forearm stopping the other woman. Her black hair swirled as a gown around her head as she sharply turned back.

"Can you... do you know the counter-spell?" she nodded toward the innocently lying flask, full of Ogden's finest, "I really need a drink now. And no more Malfoy family secrets."

Pansy – despite the fucked up situation they were in –, laughed hysterically. She ended up on the floor, beside her, as she continued guffawing, hot tears running down on her elegant cheekbones.

"Granger... I— I can't even fathom what's going on inside your head!" she let the laugh overrule her control once again, "I... We haven't been doing magic outside of our classes, Granger. Our wands are checked daily! How the fuck should I do the counter-spell? How would they act when seeing that I broke a seal that powerful? They won't know what spell was for... And besides, I'm sure it's blood magic on that damn thing! Freakish Malfoy ancestors, those are! I'm not even sure if Draco even knew..."

She didn't noticed her paling expression as she rambled on and on about the dark magic the purebloods' ancestors used once, or how Hermione would be in mortal danger should she once decide to visit the Parkinson Manor. Or any of the purebloods' ancestral homes for that matter.

Turns out each pureblood family's secrets were fucked up.

Hermione rocketed from her spot to cubicle to empty her stomach. She didn't even sense Pansy's presence for a good deal of minutes as she heaved above the toilet's boil until the Slytherin was rubbing her back and holding up her tangled locks. She was crouching beside her, murmuring soft words which were numb to Hermione's consciousness.

"Thank you," she pressed out through the tight lock of her teeth. Pansy looked at her with tender eyes as she nodded to her.

They agreed on not going back to the class, but rather to the kitchens. Both needed something to keep on going for this day. Hot chocolate seemed the best choice out of all.

They abandoned the flask without a second thought, leaving it entirely to Myrtle's mercy.

* * *

 _Thoughts on this one?_


	10. Like a slap

It was a tad bit awkward trip to the library, not because of the place itself, but for the goal he was heading to there. He knew exactly how to find her with the littlest efforts. But he soon noticed that he was a tiny bit afraid of approaching her when he didn't have the extra bravery loaded in his system. Or his flask in the inside pocket of his robe.

So he stuck to watching her, from a table that had the perfect view of her hidden alcove.

She was reading up on healing spells – he noticed the big, leather-bound book which, if thrown with enough strength, could surely kill an ordinary person. Or two. Maybe even three.

Draco Malfoy huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest, annoyed to no end. He didn't believe that he hadn't the courage to fetch a talk with a girl – no matter the topic, he should most probably be able to do this simple task as forced chit-chats were the operating wheels of purebloods' elite circles. Nevertheless, he was afraid to simply approach Granger without a plan B. Or C. But let's be safe, he still needed plan D precisely thought out before the actual confrontation.

Or if he had time for that last one... Granger – as if to (yet again) overthrow his safe tactics – dropped to the floor when reaching for a new stock of books. Not fall, no, like people would if their ankles got sprained after a wrong move. No, the know-it-all extraordinaire _just had to_ drop on the floor, like a rag doll.

His blood ran cool.

Snapped out of the frozen state, the sight did make Draco worry over his lips. He rounded the bookcases that were between them in a swift motion, immediately by her side and crouching near her, "Granger? Granger!"

All he received was a pitiful whine.

Good. At least she didn't die out of the blue. That's definitely an improvement – because plan D did end in the Infirmary. Nevertheless he had no desire of following that train of events.

He shook her shoulders vehemently, eager to have her functioning self back. Seeing Granger as pale as him was scary – and it got worse when her whines became full-force sobs. She started trembling under his hands and murmuring unintelligible things about information that she didn't know – which was on the border of _absurdity_ for Granger, anyway.

He muffled her cries with his hand as he was desperate to find a solution and not end up in Azkaban for unintentionally corrupting Golden Girl's perfect mind.

"Shit! Shit! Shit! Granger!" he tried again with the shaking but got no reaction. He saw crocodile tears roll down on her cheeks as her bosom heaved like a professional player's after an intensive Quidditch match. Heck, it was alarming!

She started struggling against him, her nails scraping his skin as she tried to put distance between them. Draco winced when his palm got a nasty injury, just into a vein, resulting into his formerly oh-so precious blood flooding out of its belonging place.

Having enough of this circus, he got both of the feisty witch's arms above her head with one of his hand and sat on her hips. Before he could perform _aguamenti_ to freshen her up and make her snap out of her intense hallucinations, he noticed it. The feeling of congealed blood under her robe's sleeve made him turn his head upwards.

Pulling her left arm down, while holding the other firmly, he rolled the black sleeve up, wet and cold against his touch. The gauze under the fabric was tight around her skin, and instead of the aseptic white that he wanted it to be, it was all red.

His fingers were the middle of peeling down the material from her forearm when Hermione started thrashing again, triggering Draco's seeker reflexes immediately as he leaned forward, pressing her back to the bookcase with their chests flat against the other's. It was intimate, but he did not want to be the victim of another muggle kick-boxing match.

He managed not to hyperventilate at the revealed sight.

There, on her arm was the absolute sign of the passing war – the bloody letters were taunting him smugly, _yes Malfoy, this was your jackass family's doing_.

His eyes were in the size of pool balls as he tried to control his reaction, he shouldn't freak out right now. He was there when she got those letters engraved in her skin for a life. And it still made him want to throw up.

Draco's limbs trembled vehemently as he was preoccupied pulling himself together.

Probably, without hearing the approaching steps, he wouldn't have managed.

Scooping up the heaving body of Granger's, he arranged her in his firm hold and sneaked her out of the library before the fourth years' study group could reach the corner. Biting his lips to swelling, he turned to the stairs, and marched downwards, too engrossed with his thoughts over the woman's wellbeing in his arms made him forget about her actually weight that made his limbs go numb.

He didn't even notice the ticklish feeling in his arms until he dropped Hermione on his bed, two floors below. Draco Malfoy didn't look back after tucking the woman in his black duvet like a bloody Belgian bonbon and leaving his dorm in rush, a bottle of fire whiskey in hand.

He needed relief. Immediately.


	11. King and Queen

She woke up feeling hot. The duvet – that was wrapped around her from head to toe – emitted the scent of firewhiskey mixed with fancy dark chocolate. It reminded her of Draco Malfoy.

Her eyes snapped open at the realization and she came face to face with Pansy Parkinson, hovering over her. She was stroking her tangled locks, but when realizing her hazels followed every of her movements, she awkwardly pulled her hand away, as if ashamed.

"Where am I," Hermione asked, voice raspy and her vocal chords aching.

Her sight of the room she was blurred, all she could see was the dark green gown covering the wall opposite the bed and the rich, dark wood of cherry that furnished the area. She liked what she saw, although had no idea where she could be or who's room she could be, given the luxury of the bedroom.

Pansy helped her sit up while she answered her, "In Slytherin quarters. King bedroom, to be precise."

"King?" she cocked a brow.

Parkinson scowled, but quickly started explaining, "There's always a King and Queen in Slytherin. The pair has the control over the whole common room. Even when professors what something with us – which is really rare, by the way –, they seek them out. These positions are not... recognised, just among Slytherin members, anyway, so it's not that big of deal," and she shrugged with that.

"Am I right to assume that you're Queen B and Malfoy is the King?"

"Ding-dong, Granger," she winked at her playfully and thrust a goblet in her hand. To her pointed look she assured, "Not alcohol, Granger. Just some innocent pumpkin juice."

As she tried to lift her left hand she dully noted that she felt nothing with it. Refusing to freak out, she reached out for the goblet with her right hand, fumbling with holding it in her hand. She willed her fingers to squeeze around the metal.

Pansy pretended not to see her inward fight with herself.

"I got the position during sixth year, and Draco got his in our fifth year. With being a member of the Inquisitorial Squad, it was not that hard to achieve for him," and she rolled her eyes, clearly amused when seeing Hermione's lips open in surprise.

"Damn."

The black haired woman knotted her brows in confusion, "What now? You don't swear until given a valid reason."

"Now how do you know that?" she inquired, craving not to speak about her lest Pansy would realize that something was of.

"Seen Weaselbee – sorry, Weasley bitching around, losing shit during the years, but hardly you. You just stormed from hallway to the other, but never said worse swearing than a firsty. So spit it out, Granger, I'm curious," and with that she jumped on the bed, nearly jabbing Hermione with her elbow during the motion. Pansy used the backrest as leverage, not having any pillows left, but she didn't complain.

Her smirk would have made a shark ashamed with the number of teeth showing.

"I'm lazing around in Draco Malfoy's bedding and I have my clothes on. It's uncommon, isn't it?" Hermione stated flatly with a slight quirk on her lips.

Pansy threw her head back in a deep, throaty laughter, the whiskey having its effect on her voice, making it hoarse and scratchy. Hermione watched with a lopsided smile as her tears rolled down on her cheeks as she continued on with her activity. Her shoulders sagged and she leaned back to the backrest with relief.

"Thank you. I needed this."

She shook her head, "I know. Your welcome," and with that she started sipping her pumpkin juice which she had crawls on the skin, but she didn't dare tell that to Pansy. It was enough to know that Pansy had actually worried herself sick because of her.

After an hour, Hermione got bored with the silence that embraced them. The perfectly crafted goblet sat on Draco Malfoy's bedside table, emptied and there was not much to do in a room so impersonal like this. Somewhere, Pansy got a few Witch Weeklies and turned the page frantically, eventually giving up the fight for finding something actually reliable material among the articles.

So when they decided to go out of the King's bedroom, Pansy needed to give a hand for Hermione whose legs behaved like they were hit by the Jelly Legs curse, constantly buckling and trembling. With leaning to Pansy, they managed to get out of the dormitories, and eventually out of the common room. During the march she felt at least hundred pairs of eyes jabbing in her back as she was escorted by their Queen.

Nobody dared to contradict Pansy as she walked out with her head held high and nose nearly upturned, dragging Hermione on her arm. Thankfully with her right hand put firmly in place – she still was unable to move the left, given that just her fingers seemed to function.

She held herself together even when knowing Malfoy must have seen the slur world carved in her arm.

Contemplating her next words carefully, Hermione licked her lips to side to side, before blurting out, "Can we go to Malfoy? I want to speak with him."

Pansy shrugged and took off toward the Hogwarts grounds, "He's probably drunk by now."

"He might be conscious."

The Slytherin Queen nodded in agreement, "He might."

* * *

 _Thank you for all of your support! 3 Now, next chapter will surely be chaotic, so be prepared! (Also, aischenna . tumblr . com; just for the sake of self-promo ;D)_


	12. First fight

"I'm not going to let you go by yourself," Pansy growled at her when they arrived at the Black Lake, watching Malfoy from the side. He was lying on his back, with his arms tucked under his neck as he gazed up at the sunset with a firewhiskey laying beside him as a companion.

Hermione shook her head in dismissal, an intoxicated boy can do no harm for her right now, "And I'm a big girl, I have a wand, and can scream to wake up the dead. Don't be worried about me." With that, she slipped her arm out of Pansy's tight clutch and marched forward, perfectly aware of Pansy's hawk-like gaze as she studied her moves, curious if she was still having troubles or aches.

The deputy Head Girl moved her left to her chest, squeezing it with her other. She was glad to feel the strength of it under her skin – it was kind of relieving after thinking her entire arm had gone numb during the midday.

She grinded her teeth together – Bellatrix's poison seemed to get stronger after every day. But nobody needed to know this. And she definitely needed more time to solve the riddle.

She was pulled out of her own thoughts when a hand grabbed wrist, and the next she knew, she was laying on the grass with a very drunk Draco Malfoy sipping whiskey beside her, grinning like a madman. She blinked once. Twice.

"You're happy now?" she barked in disbelief.

His grin widened, the edge of his lips nearly bothering his ears. And then, he tipped back the bottle which was still three quarters full. However, it was freshly opened as she found the bottle cap in the thick, deep grass and started fiddling with it.

"If you think this is my happy expression, then Granger, I shall be a first hand disappointment," he said in an uncharacteristically sing-song voice. He repeated his last motion, chugging on the golden liquid as if his life depended on it. "Besides, you shouldn't be 'ere."

Hermione looked up at the sky, unsure how to start what she wanted to speak with him, "You Slytherins stick together, that's a common knowledge," she wondered aloud, "'Though, your lot is awfully out of place. Aren't you lonely sometimes?"

She peered up at him when hearing his booming, bitter laugh that made her stomach do a backflip. It was dry and manly, making her feel curious as she had never heard his laugh before. It was an entirely different from how she knew Draco Malfoy.

"Lonely?" he bellowed, eyes twinkling with no humour. "Granger, can you hear yourself? I have more people to belong to than ever before!" And in a mocking gesture, he waved at her as if she were an annoying fly lazing on his shoulder and dirtying his fancy robe.

With this simple, majestic move, he got her riled up within a second, but before her anger could have exploded, he continued, seemingly unfazed by the pinking of her cheeks, "Misery binds people together, Granger. That's how Slytherins work nowadays," and he pointedly looked in her eyes, the maelstrom of the stormy sea of his irises sucking her in, and making her forget about her fury, "If you must know."

Embarrassed to the core, she turned away and noted her success: she'd managed to peel down a layer of Draco Malfoy. And it was a new experience – awkward, but not inconvenient, overly personal compared to their... relationship. (as in lack of better words.)

"I... I just don't understand you," Hermione supplied a timid reply, looking anywhere but at the man at her side. "You've changed."

He laughed into the whiskey, "Now, call for the Prophet. The impossible had actually happened!" his fake enthusiasm felt like acid and it earned him a dirty look from Hermione.

One step forward, a thousand backwards.

"You can stop with acting like a jerk, Malfoy!" she snapped which made him adopt her expression, his gaze piercing through her skull with its force. Not that she cared or was scared of _that_.

His posture suddenly changed, his muscles tensed and his mimic gone unreadable and rigid, before answering her call, "Because I'm not anything else. Just the jerk. Cool," and he nodded approvingly, but it was obvious his words left a foul taste on his tongue.

Hermione – having the infamous Gryffindor temper – jumped up immediately at the bait, her frustration getting the better of her as she shouted at her rescuer, "What's your real problem Malfoy, hah? The war was bad for everyone! Why do you think you're _oh-so-special_ ," she practically spit the words in his face, "than the others! We've all seen things, yes, _awful_ things! But none of us try to get alcohol poisoning! You said you'd made a _very_ bad decision back in the saloon, now, do yourself a favour and don't make another!"

And with that she hauled the firewhiskey from his hand, and, with a gracious movement, turned it upside down. They watched in silence as the amber, glinting liquid melted in the soil.

"What the fuck woman?" he demanded after even the last drops had disappeared. "It was vintage! From the motherfucking _nineteenth_ century!"

At least the worms would have a great time – Hermione mused, ignoring Malfoys's snarls of dismay.

Cutting him short, she placed her functioning hand on her hip, looking in the eye with the crazed blonde. Her voice was cold and bored as she threw her honest words in his face, "Malfoy, your precious blood would need a night without alcohol. I'm sure your erythrocytes are throwing a tantrum in your system for letting a mudblood take care of your sorry ass, but try to cope."

Throwing the empty bottle in the Black Lake – not caring if it hit a mermaid –, she turned away and march back toward Hogwarts, before he could have seen her distraught demeanour

Damn it! She hated being a mess! It was even strange for her how this conversation made her confused and turned her world upside down, her nerves tight and emotions flaring in her.

"Hermione!"

The fact that it was a very first time of him calling her by her given name didn't stop her from storming away.


	13. Page ninty-three

After one week, they still did not speak to each other. Malfoy blatantly avoided her, he turned away and always got out of her way, during their classes, in the Great Hall, in the library...– so obviously that even students from younger years picked up on it. Although, it might had to do something with a fifth year eavesdropping on them during their row as the Hogwarts' gossip mill was on fire. Even Lavander approached her for an interview.

Pansy laughed in mirth whenever Hermione worked her nerves up due to this issue and a constant nagging of their schoolmates who still thought she was the less dangerous opponent to cross than the big, bad Death Eater. Oh, boy, they couldn't be more wrong.

Throughout the last week, Hermione debated, and thought: she kind of lost the hope of jumping forward the last one thousand of backward steps in one swift motion as Malfoy was adamant on getting himself out of her environment. Heck, he didn't even do that when they were hurling hexes in rounds during the years!

Hermione pinched her lips together tightly, as she was – exceptionally – not snuggled in her favourite alcove in the library, but rather seated at one of the tables, turning the pages of the current victim of her fury, namely _The Book of Advanced Healing Potions_.

She bit in the inside of her cheek when the paper cut in her skin.

"You'd better look up _The Book of Lethal Poisons_ than sparing a glance at that waste of time," and there it was, her breath hitched and for a moment she thought the time stopped turning.

"Same author?" she asked, and was dumbstruck when instead of ' _Malfoy'_ , this came out. She turned back to take a peek at him, incredulous that he really did appear. He was leaning to the vast bookcase by the hips, his arms crossed before his broad chest, his stormy eyes watching her with intensity.

It made her gulp. He looked intimidating. Even thought she was half-way on persuading herself that he was just a hallucination caused by her exhaustion.

"Still not getting through the riddle, I see," he confirmed, though his words meant anything but. He swam in her line of vision as he was suddenly leaning to the neat, old table of oak, his ankles crossed with no weight put on his legs.

She didn't spare her a glance. And Malfoy was not bit of concerned as Hermione immediately shot up to look for the book. When she turned toward the right section, Draco turned her to the other way, to the Herbiology books. At the knotting of her brows he just nodded toward the top-shelf, and she found the sought volume in a second.

"Why do you do this thing, Malfoy?" Hermione asked as she reached for the book, she on her tip-toes and nearly climbing on the first shelf for better chances. Draco stood there, unfazed by her struggles as he fixed his gaze from the deputy Head Girl's ridden up skirt. "Suddenly appearing and talking non-related and never giving proper answers?"

Hermione didn't realize that the burning she felt was most probably not the effect of suffering for the damned book.

That made the blonde focus tilt and settle on her head instead of her bum, "It was a random turn of heart, to be precise. Pansy told me about your arm."

Hermione turned, back, locking eyes with her former archenemy, "So you _are_ capable of being sober some of these days, hmm?"

She smiled wolfishly, aware of his narrowing eyes. Hermione knew this game he was so adamant on playing when approaching her – hitting around the bush, that is. The prat would get a spoonful of what he cooked for himself. But she knew he wouldn't back out easily.

"Same author, yes," he answered at her former question after a quick war with himself, nodding to her. "Snape told me about this book, said, it should have been in the Restricted Section. Though I haven't a shot how you hadn't found it yet."

"Do you think it would be good to pair up Parkinson and Neville for patrolling? The Head Girl threw the whole schedule at me for making it up as she was rubbish at organizing. Honestly, I haven't a shot how she got the position by the first hand," she rambled – using the same expression he had on purpose – as she flipped through the weighty book, full of potions that made her stomach roll in disgust. At least she was able to keep up pretence.

Malfoy audibly growled at the suggestion.

"Oh, you think that's so bad? Maybe I can arrange Ginny instead. At least she won't get chewed and spit out by Pansy, as I know them, they would be a terrifying combo if ever given a chance to work together. Although, they might not start jumping up and down in bliss fo—,"

Before she could have continued on, she had her book rudely snatched away as Draco was in the mere of two inches away from her, looking at her with a furious expression, and shortly causing a cramp in her neck as she intended to hold his gaze, not to give in.

"Quit the shit, darling. Just—!"

"Oh, call for the Prophet! The impossible had actually happened!" Hermione imitated poorly with a cruel smile dancing on her lips. It made his scowl deepen on his face, _that deep_ that it looked it had been engraved in his features.

He took a long, suffering breath in, all while counting to ten in his mind to restrain himself. He sighed.

"Just read the damned book," he commanded, but his voice so much more tender, but still booming of force. "Page ninty-three, the _Essence of Spurius_."

"The Romans?" she asked, hoping dearly that that was the case.

Malfoy smiled at her wryly, "Should I snatch you a dictionary, too?"

Something snapped in place in her head when hearing the thud of his steps, muted by the – now – blurry, colourful carpet. She didn't need the dictionary anymore.


	14. During breakfast

Blaise Zabini looked in his eyes and nodded toward the other side of the Great Hall. Draco pretended to be overly confused. Zabini repeated the motion, accompanied by a pointed glare. The Malfoy heir rolled his eyes and crossed his arms defensively, refusing to steal a glance at Granger whose hands seemed to be stuck to the potion's book.

"What's she doing with that book?" Blaise asked after a while, sipping earl grey tea, the etiquette drilled into him as he refused to stare at the deputy Head Girl further. "I knew you had to learn the recipes from backwards to anagrams, but why is it with Grager? I thought it burnt with..."

Draco's clutch tightened around his poor fork. He knew what Blaise wanted to say – _burnt with Crabbe._ He shivered and put the cutlery down. Suddenly he wasn't all that hungry.

"It did. That one's a copy from our library."

At Balise's confused expression, Draco sighed. He knew he'd eventually need to talk about his plans, but he'd never expected this confrontation to be this soon, even before he could have made sure Granger accepted his offer. "I need her help. But now, she does not have any knowing of that."

Blaise nodded in acknowledgement and took a toast from the platter in front of him. Zabini looked for blueberry jam and when he found it with his eyes, he couldn't resist scowling. It was on the other side of the table, between the excitedly buzzing firsties. Surprisingly there were more than ten eleven-years-old sorted in Slytherin this year, which was really high number compared to the only one second year in their house.

Zabini _accio'ed_ the container at which the little newbies marvelled with eyes comically wide like they had just witnessed a murder.

Draco scowled at the thought and looked away, wishing for bitter coffee that he took a liking of during this summer, during his house arrest. In Slytherin's table all you could get was either mocha or cocoa, none being his desired morning fuel.

"There's a quill poking out from the book," Blaise blurted out, chewing on his bite in slow motion, hoping it also did slow the seconds. He didn't want to go in Potions just like that, all sober and bored beyond bearing.

Draco subtly glanced at the woman, sitting primly at the Gryffindor table, the Weaselette continuously jabbing her with her elbow just to get her attention. It didn't bother Granger's focus.

"Page ninety-three, _the Essence of Spurius_ ," he told Blaise and looked up when hearing his cough. With this, he nearly managed to choke his friend. It was just Draco's usual luck that he didn't manage.

"And pray tell me how this is supposed to persuade _her_ to give _you_ a hand?" he demanded, at his forceful tone attracting more eyes than his former _accio_ spell.

Draco sighed and reached for the jar full of cocoa, trying hard not to think about his perfect coffee that would make a half-dead horse jump on its four feet and gallop away, immediately. "I have my reasons," he answered in the Slytherin way, not giving away any details. "Besides, if she is what her reputation suggests, the Brightest Witch of her Age, and all that, she'd figure it out before we clash. And I'm sure she'd realize it, the moment she reads the part about the effect."

Blaise pulled up a well-mannered eyebrow at him, "You know that she will."

It made Draco smirk in satisfaction, entirely tuning Blaise out entirely, "Headaches, hallucinations, stinging feeling, the burning inside the veins..., and paralysation. That would be the clues she'd most certainly pick up on."

"What are you playing Draco?" Blaise asked again, worried about the brunette who had not the slightest idea about this conversation or Draco's fucked up way of scheming.

"Nothing harmful," Malfoy answered, downing the cocoa from his mug in one go. Maybe it did not wake him up, but he couldn't deny its fineness, he licked his lips to get every drop of the sweet liquid. "She needs just as much my help as I need hers. She'd find the solution for my tiny little problem. All I need to do is to provide her with information."

With that, he stood up, not bothered by the many stares he'd received. He got a hold of a green apple from one of the trays, so polished that it was practically glinting at him, and bit in it, hard. During the process he made eye contact with Hermione Granger who narrowed her beautiful, honey coloured eyes at him, definitely not with humour. She was studying him with the intention of putting the pieces together. As if he were some kind of puzzle, hah!

But this confirmed his suspicion. Hermione had totally read that description and got the traces all right. It shouldn't be long before she'd seek him out.

Draco Malfoy smirked in the apple, not concerned by its liquid rolling down on his lower lip. He swaggered out of the Great Hall in a good mood, contented with the process he'd made just by this breakfast.

Blaise Zabini chewed on his toast, enjoying the taste of blueberry in lack of better things to do as he was unable to get the inextricable right. He locked eyes with Wealette who now – yet again – struggled to attract Granger's attention. She didn't get it.

When she pulled up her ginger eyebrows in questions, he shrugged his shoulder. He had no idea what the deputy Heads were on about. And he had a feeling he'd better not know, too.

* * *

 _Let's prepare yourself for an exhausting confrontation between our lovey-dovey idiots. They don't know it but they oh-so-much care about each other. I may have awh'd, but it'd be totally ridiculous, given it's my story. I won't awh. So much._

 _Hope you had fun! Please be kind and leave comment! I decided to make it a goal of my life to reach 80 reviews before next chapter. You know, if you love me... ;D Also, self-promo: I'm also on tumblr - aischenna dot tumblr dot com. Good day folks! ;D_


	15. Negotiation

A book clashed with his desk – the one which had a perfect view of her hidden alcove – and its sound stirred Malfoy awake from his half-asleep state. He calmly put down his eagle quill in pretence that the overly riled up Hermione Granger didn't scare him shitless.

"What, Granger?" he cocked a blonde brow at her in question and she answered with rolling her eyes, firmly pointing on _The Book of Lethal Poisons_ , as if that'd be enough for Draco to know what to say. With his mind concentrating nothing but sleeping, it wasn't enough for sure.

"Explain," she snapped and pulled out a chair, its legs making a screeching noise on the floor. She sat down with the grace that could put the Queen to shame, while never letting Draco out of her sight.

Leaning back to the chair and turning his head around, cracking the joints in her neck, he was glad to put some more distance between him and the eager eyes of the deputy Head Girl. Her interrogating stare would have been scary if she hadn't been fiddling with her thumbs under the table. Draco realized in a second – she was afraid what this conversation could hold.

"I think you've figured it out yourself," he said in a condescending manner, trying to suppress a yawn with his jaw clenching. His eyes twinkled when seeing the flames ablaze in her irises. It was always fun to make her tremble in fury.

"Explain Malfoy, for fuck's sake," she hissed like a cat, not betraying the image of a lioness in his head. He really needed to be in control of his facial muscles not to let her know about his amusement.

" _Essence of Spurius_ , you've read it, I suppose."

Her eyes glinted in the torch's light, warning him, "I know the whole recipe. Backwards,," she said with firmly sat jaws.

He nodded – trying hard not to snicker, because he could wrote it down with anagrams – and clutched his hands to put it under his neck. He started swinging on his stair, knowing it irritated her to no end. "Then you should know it can't hurt you."

"Minus it _can_ ," snapped before he could have continued on. "You get this from your library, Malfoy, you put it on the shelf right before you approached me a week ago. I just don't understand – and if you say you'd call for the Prophet I'm gonna end you right there!"

Draco Malfoy used his usual, _oh-so-Malfoyish_ smirk that was surely coded in his DNA. "Now, now, that'd be foolish to end me as I'm the only one who can help you before your freaking _die_."

Her expression visibly paled, as she clutched the table for support lest she'd drop on the floor. He'd needed to be blind not to know how this simple statement upset her.

It might have been cruel from him to make up this scenario, but Draco needed to continue on to get her to agreeing.

"Wouldn't it be ridiculous that you survived a war, survived duelling several Death Eaters and be gone because of a potion, hah? I can imagine the depression of the common peop—,"

Hermione gulped audibly, before ending his tirade, "Essence of Spurius is a poison, not a potion, Malfoy." She couldn't help herself, but right the wrong, as it was essential for not acknowledging the awaiting future. She didn't dare think about further possibilities.

His smirk nearly occupied his entire, pointy face by now, "No, it's a potion. It has no effect on those of..." he made a break, waiting for her to finish it.

"Just on those of legitimate birth. But I'm not...!"

"What you don't know is that Severus'd altered that potion. The Romans gave it to the bastards of famous public figures to get the little blotch out of their perfect portfolio and get more people on their side. It was politic, by all means." His molten silver eyes hardened to steel as he told the potion's history, "It killed the victims slowly, and until the middle ages it went undetected, then some genius made an antidote, and _The Dragging Death_ was out of the market. But Bellatrix," he noticed as she flinched even by the mention of his batshit crazy aunt. He was hardly able not to look away, "asked Snape to alter it. To something that kill those who the user deem bastard. In theory, that would mean blood traitors and mu—ggle-borns from her perspective."

"So you mean that it was on her dagger?" she asked in a small voice, shoulders slumped as the little pieces became a picture in front of her eyes. She couldn't be excited for this information at the moment, as it was nowhere mentioned in that blasted book. Instead, she focused on her will, trying to stop shaking. Even her bones seemed to clash with the tremors, and she needed to rub her sweaty palms in her school robe.

His stormy eyes seemed to reflect a lightning as he debated, before blurting out, "That dagger is a Malfoy heirloom. Bellatrix got it when Father was in Azkaban."

She shook her head trying hard not to remember the silver of the knife as it glinted at her cruelly when Lestrange used her skin canvas. Still, she would have preferred paints instead of remaining carvings. "Do you know the recipe of the new poison? The one Snape'd made."

Draco tried not to let the confident smile slip off his lips, but failed miserably. He looked away, as if the dusty bookshelves would be more entertaining to him than this stressing discussion, "No, I haven't an idea. But we could find it out. And make the antidote."

It was an offer, seemingly one that could not be refused. Although, something was definitely not okay in Hermione's head, without doubts, his offered smelled fishy.

Granger narrowed her eyes at him, ignoring the hard, raw facts that she was as trapped as a deer in the hunters' territory. Both knew she had no choice in the matters. "Why did you tell me this, Malfoy? You're out for something, and I don't know what you could possibly earn from this...," before he could have defended himself, Hermione's piercing gaze stopped him, "and don't even try with sweet talk, seven years were enough to know that you're most certainly not the living equivalence of selflessness."

He flashed her a true, but twisted smile; even though he was aware how it made her even more nervous. She didn't disappoint him the slightest! Granger did deserve the title the Prophet gave her.

"Yeah, you're right, Granger. I have a bargain to make," to her knotted eyebrows he pulled out the flask that he'd received from the weeping Myrtle a month ago. It was battered and more importantly, empty. The metal clang to the rich oak of the table, and when Hermione opened her mouth to say ' _deal'_ , he stopped her with a motion of his hand. She obeyed without complaint.

"It'd not be that cheap," and with this, he rolled up his sleeve on his left arm, revealing the Dark Mark, perfectly in contrast with his pale skin.

Her eyes widened comically in the sizes of cauldrons, and if it wasn't for their fucked up lives, he would have chuckled. But with restraints, freezing his vocal chords to stillness, he was unable to do so.

"It does not let anything to harm it. I tried charms and those backfired. We tried the tattoo – it's fucking sparked and burned the skin underneath," he explained, his gaze fixed on the carpet and the colourful pattern of it, golden leaves, rich burgundy and deep forest green mixed in the picture, with turquoise sky towering above that. "I know the ink can be parted from the skin – I watched how Voldemort got it down from Father's arm when he was deemed unworthy of the title of Death Eater and..," he said, pretty much aware of her flabbergasted expression. He didn't dare continue the sentence, but Draco knew Hermione got the thread – that was the only reason why Lucius Malfoy still wasn't in Azkaban.

"It hurts like bitch," he admitted, his haunted expression making Hermione shudder. "If you thought receiving this shit would be painfully... getting rid of it could be lethal."

Desperate to leave this topic, although knowing that in a few days it would be inevitable, she spoke, "How much time do we... I have?"

That made Draco got out the hell, which was taking place in his head when the memories seemed to replay in his mind, "Honestly? I'd say two years at best."

"At worst?" she asked with bated breath, her nails leaving moon-shapes in her palms as she balled her fist to whitening knuckles.

"You'd not be alive by now."

Her breathe hitched, her hazel eyes in the verge of popping out of their sockets, and her cherry coloured lips hanging open. The tears rolled down on her cheeks openly as if her eyes were the sources of rivers. He could practically hear the wheels turning in her head.

And that was the time he knew he got her.

"What do you say, Granger? Allies for _our_ lives or enemies for _your_ death?"

" _Deal_ ," she whispered.

* * *

 _Okay, so this one was one of my favourite chapter to write! Hope you liked it! Essential question: what do you think? About their bargain? About the Essence of Spurius? And about Lucius Malfoy? I'm really curious because there were a lot of things going on! Also, I'm sorry, but next chapter will not come on Tuesday... My year (ehh, 3/4 of my class) is going to Prague, and won't be back until Wednesday. Hate to break the chain of updates... but also, I need to have some fun once in a while! ;D_


	16. Sneaking out

It was three days. Three goddamned days of silence and then, he got hauled in a broom closet, and no, oh not for a feisty snog-session with a beautiful girl, but instead for a widely smiling Hermione Granger who threw a blanket at him, as if that would solve all their problems. She behaved like she'd had amnesia – forgetting that she could die by any day. And she still had strength to smile... no, scratch that. She _grinned_ at him victoriously! The gall that girl had, hah!

What he didn't know was that Hermione Granger spent the last three days in utter hysterics in the Room of Requirements, crying and vomiting in turns, spiked with screaming tantrums and throwing books, lamps or really anything that the room had offered for her. She – for a moment – even considered using a bit too much of medicines for her aching forearm. But it was not the time to get the cat out of its bag.

Without further explanation, and thus, stopping her wandering thoughts, she blurted out, "We can speak with Snape!"

Draco knotted his brows in confusion, letting the thick blanket hit the floor with a thud, "I won't summon a ghost. It's illegal."

She actually sneered at him – it was very familiar for Draco, given it was a reflection of his own, "When has it ever bothered you when something _was_ illegal? Anyway, don't worry your pretty blonde head about it, we won't do that. But, we need _that_ ," and there, she pointed at the blanket, unceremoniously dropped at his feet, "for breaking in, in McGonagall's office."

For a moment he swore his heart had stopped beating, "Are you crazy woman? Of course we won't!"

Turns out they most certainly _would_.

"I'd rather we had summoned Snape's dark soul," he whispered in her hair.

Hermione shivered at the sensation, but was stubborn enough not to let herself go all red. Under Harry's Invisibility Cloak with a fairly decent-looking boy – who was too tall so he needed to be constantly hunched and always in her back not to let the his shiny leather shoes be seen by the portraits – was getting hard for Hermione to bear. Start with his alluring scent of dark chocolates he simply radiated and the heat of his lean, but muscled body so close to her that she was sure no microbe could worm itself between them... She felt everything, amplified.

"This is safer," she chided back in whisper-shouting and stomped forward, only for Draco's hand stopping her. He had a grip like a safety belt around her waist as he dragged her back, into a close alcove.

She was about to protest, but heard the nearing footsteps just in time. It was Filch and his blasted cat.

Even unconsciously, she tensed at the sight, her breathing slowing down in fear of getting caught. Even if she had been using the cloak for years, it was still weird for her to see everything, but still not to be seen.

"That was close," Draco muttered and suddenly she became painfully aware of his muscled chest pushing against her back. Even through the several layers of clothing, she could tell he must be an eye-candy.

Shaking those sickening thoughts out of her head, Hermione slapped his hand away, as that was still resting on her stomach. He rolled his quicksilver eyes and mockingly bumped his shoulder to her head. Hermione huffed and pulled him with her toward the vacated office of McGonagall.

The gargoyles' eyes were inspecting the empty corridor for students, but obviously in vain. However, they couldn't resist moving away, when Hermione muttered the password: pop rock. A new candy McGonagall discovered when she was in the Muggle world, and with that, continue on Dumbledore's tradition.

Malfoy looked dumbfounded at the lot of junk sitting everywhere not leaving an ounce of free or uncovered place in the entire room. His eyes widened and couldn't help himself, but wonder how they had managed to get that much of thrash squeeze into one room. Yes, magic, but still.

"Have never been there?" Hermione asked and yanked off the Invisibility Cloak of them. She suppressed a smile at his childish, surprised expression. It was surely a change compared to his ice cold mask.

"I've, but... all these junk are actually troubling," he gestured weakly to the overstuffed shelves and waited for explanation.

The deputy Head Girl rolled up the cloak and hugged it, her head lolling to the side, "No, these are not junk. All these are from the students who took part in the Battle of Hogwarts." Seeing his mouth open, she cut him of even before his question, "I mean... the dead ones. McGonagall wanted to remember, so she asked the friends or families to give her something to not forget her brave students."

"It's just became a lot more troubling," Draco said after a while, looking around cautiously as if afraid the things could hurl some curses at him, like people did nowadays. He tried not to think which of these could have been Crabbe's. He gulped.

"Mr. Malfox, Miss Granger? It's sure surprising to see you together without wands drawn out," boomed a voice above their head, sneering and condescending just like they had remembered Snape to be. "What can I help you with in the middle of the night?"

Without hesitation, Hermione stepped forward, "We need your help, Professor. It's urgent."

The portrait 's eyes narrowed suspiciously at both of his former students. Snape seemed to debate as he studied the two – and they refused to squirm under his heavy gaze! – his greasy, black hair falling forward in the process.

Before the potion master could have said his verdict, Draco spoke up, "Essence of Spurius. Granger'll be dead soon if we don't do anything."

Realization drawn at the pale face of Snape and he couldn't resist grimacing at the revelled truth – he watched the pair, Granger looking extremely uncomfortable and hugging herself with her arms, looking anywhere but at them, and his godson, tilting his head at the side expectantly. He was sure he got him by these words.

"You want the antidote, I assume," he said after a few minutes, their eyes shining in anticipation as their eager-beaver nature came out to the light. It was a sharp turn compared to their former behaviour. He was hardly able to resist rolling his eyes, "The recipe is destroyed, but I remember part of it. I'll help."

Those words were all they needed. The deputy Heads paid attention to everything sitting on Potter's cloak and writing down every of his words, be that the recipe, his suggestions, different herbs that could slow down the effect of the Dragging Death or literally anything that had something to do with their problems.

They didn't even notice when Minerva McGonagall strolled into her office. Her bewildered expression worth everything but, Snape just nodded to her, signalling that he would handle these two troublemakers. McGonagall left them there, probably too shocked to actually do anything against it.

* * *

 _You sure know how to make a girl smile! Thank you for all your kind words - I swear I'll answer, I just still not over of Prague. I hope you had fun with this one though! ;D_


	17. The asphodel's juice

Flipping through the hurriedly scrawled notes of Draco, they looked at each other, unsure how to react. Hermione at first thought she'd misread the words on the parchment – as she slept through half of the discussion Malfoy had with Snape's portrait –, but seeing Draco's uneasy expression, she was sure, that in fact, she did read it right.

"Unicorn blood?" she hissed, her knuckles squeezed to whitening. "Dittany and asphodel, some minerals and dragon scales, that is possible, but unicorn blood?" She felt like crying. She got all of the ingredients for a potion that could save her life, but these were either rare or hard to find. Or impossible for that one. Not to mention the right order of brewing it – Snape was unsure if he put the grinded dragon scales before or after the unicorn blood. So they needed to brew the potion twice. At least.

And it took him two months to make.

"We should start to prepare some ingredients," Draco said gently, but still firmly. They were sitting on a blanket in the middle of Myrtle's bathroom, with a bronze cauldron in front of them, waiting to be filled.

The déjà vu crept up and settled in her mind, and she selfishly wished she'd be back in her second year. She might had become a stone statute, but at least wasn't dying.

"What are you planning to do, Malfoy?" she asked in a small voice, doubtful and broken. To his obtuse stare she looked away, awkwardly massaging her left forearm. "Our deal. We don't even know if I'm alive when we finish the prototypes. If we finish. I mean, unicorn blood and Antarctic Ice Dragon scales are rare at best. I know you are exceptional with potions, bu—," and then, she found herself eating some foul-tasting herbs.

"You chew, and then survive," he exclaimed dryly, looking away as he concentrated on his hand that held the elegant Jack-knife, ready to slice the asphodels, which he did with special cruelty. He was annoyed – but Hermione wondered if the shaking of his hands was the fault of his anger or the improper amount of alcohol he had devoured in the last few months.

Not to be prejudiced, but she believed the last.

"Don't worry your pretty, bushy head about those, I'll get them," he promised with a smirk. Hermione didn't know how he was able to still be an asshole while helping her surviving. She decided not to comment. Silence was still better than a shouting match.

Trying not to scrunch up her nose in disgust at the taste on her tongue, she rather studied his hands – the blue veins were visible as he held the knife tightly, the blade cutting through the fragile flowers mercilessly. She could see how hard he was concentrating not to mess up or cut himself. He still worked like an expert, confidently and effectively.

"Shit!" She flinched and snapped her head up. His blood dripped from his index finger as he cursed in a wide scale and dropped the knife with a clang. From the corner of her eyes she could see Myrtle jumping on the windowsill out of surprise.

Without second thought, she took his hand in hers, examining his bleeding digit carefully. "It's not long, but a deep cut," she informed him as he still cursed, the asphodel's juice probably numbing his hand. Draco tried to move his fingers, but they just mockingly twitched back at him.

When in the blood system in high concentration, asphodel could make an average person go paralyzed for a few days –, Hermione knew that. And seeing as Draco's eyes became dreamy at that very same second and his controlled expression loosened, she took action.

Sucking the juice out of the cut, she watched the man beside her as he started perking up. He was fighting with the urge of sleeping, she could see that. Hermione continued on, occasionally running her tongue over the cut and spitting out the mix of her saliva, his blood, and the asphodel's juice.

She was truly flabbergasted when she felt Draco's finger move under her tongue's caress, and when looking up, she found his mercurial, stormy eyes gazing in her owns. Hers widened, and suddenly she felt so embarrassed. What was she doing?

The deep blush blazed up on her cheeks, as she slowly pushed his hand away from hers, rubbing the dripping finger in her skirt. She was afraid he might shout her head off, she expected him to lose it and burst out in hysterics. But instead, Draco acted as he'd not even sensed anything from her actions, he continued to watch her, his intense gaze burning up her entire being.

"I'm sorry," she muttered bashfully, looking anywhere but at him. It was something too intimate for their somewhat friendly relationship, and even though both knew that, they couldn't help on the changing mood.

Hermione felt it was too hot in the abandoned bathroom and hurriedly stood up to go over to the taps. She chose to escape – she reminded herself bitterly.

Maybe that were her nerves, or Draco's close presence, but it was too much to bear and too abrupt. Hermione wasn't prepared for a change so unexpected and so ominous.

She splashed some water on her face in a hope of refreshing herself, hoping that her blush would disappear with the big drops of water rolling down on her cheeks.

"Ya' know... I can see your panties?"

She considered throwing a soap at him – that she was sure the observing Myrtle slipped there –, but quickly realized that she was putting up with a Slytherin. Therefore, it was a bluff. Even though his unsure tone sounded weirdly truthful.

"I don't believe you."

She could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he answered, his spirits seemed to lift, "Tell that to the black lace on the French panties."

The soap crashed with his head.

* * *

 _Hi there lovlies! ;D Thank you for all of your comments! It's really good to have a feedback on what I'm doing and knowing that I'm not wasting my time with it. Oh, and I got bithday tomorrow (17th), so if you want me all-so-smiley, please consider writing back... even an emoji would be enough! Reviews are like drug for writers. And I'm not ashamed of my obsession! ;D_

 _Besides, I'm working on 3 other things - one of them being a multi-chap, and I love that one. Full of opposites! Ah, my cliché!_

 _So, hope you had fun and sorry for rambling (no not really, but I tried.) Love ya all! ;D_


	18. Mother's letter

Draco Malfoy sighed tiredly, feeling overly miserable. He'd asked around every of his father's shady business partners already – and still, no one knew where to get unicorn blood. Even a spoonful was particularly impossible to get in Knockturn Alley. However, he was convinced that Snape got his portion through his family and their connections.

At least the Dragon Reservation in Romania had the required dragon scales. However, he still needed to contact their manager – according to brochure they didn't sell those things for anyone, just for special clients. He had a big task in front of him – if he ever wanted to successfully fix Granger, he needed to get in contact with Charlie Weasley. Maybe, mentioning Hermione's name couldn't hurt, right?

Dittany was stored in Sprout's cabinet, with the Gryffindor's distracting ability and his snooping, it was simple to have. Or either, Hermione would just get Longbottom do it for her. That was more likely as Professor Sprout wasn't big fan of her since she took off with Pansy in the last month.

He ran a hand through his blonde hair.

Even though he still believed his parents could solve everything, he was slightly unnerved. He'd just got his mother's letter back to his desperate pleading to get him unicorn blood from _somewhere_. He hoped that his mother's skills and complicate web of gossip system could solve their problem. And despite that, he was afraid of opening the letter – it was possible she had found nothing in the issue, hence the quick answer.

He had sent his letter two days ago – the deal being this serious, it was nearly impossible that she had already found the remedy for his hysterics.

Draco turned the hard parchment in his fingers, contemplating if he should open it without Granger. There may be personal stuff. And there may be the push they needed to get everything in track.

So he decided to open it. Curiosity was eating him from the insides – he had never been that hyped because of a letter since he was sorted in Slytherin. At least those formalities didn't hold secrets within.

 _Dear,_

 _I cannot simply guess why you would need some of the most treasured bloods of the magical world so importantly. I understood – you needed it, but where's the reason, Draco? You conveniently forgot to mention it in your last letter._

 _However, seeing how egged on you were, I decided to give you some information on unicorns. To get blood you need to form an understanding with the creatures. Trust is something they like to see in your eyes, honesty is the other. Also, love can pass, too. Be gentle if you ever meet one – they can turn ruthless in a second. I wish you luck with your research, but until you tell me more of your doing, I'm not giving away anything more. I think I'm being fair – rambling for rambling. Information for information._

 _Tell your mother everything – and please, don't be an idiot, Draco._

 _Love,_

 _Mother_

He was tempted to burn the parchment with the elegant handwriting to crisps with a quick _incendio_ , but he needed to show it to Granger. She was sure his mother knew more than she was willing to offer – even he wrote an honest answer, she'd not give it out entirely. Knowing the Slyítherin way of thinking, that is.

Storming in Myrtle's bathroom – startling the longing ghost to the point to fall of her beloved windowsill –, he tossed his bag on the floor and occupied the sofa he got there the other day – the advantage that everyone was afraid of him. No one dared to question him even though he was levitating a sofa out of the Slytherin common room.

Well, minus Pansy. She was a tiny bit pissed, but it was nothing some hints about discounted Parisian robes couldn't have solved.

He sighed tiredly and started thinking, massaging the bridge of his nose.

His mother always liked magical creatures, unicorns and hippogriffs ( _such irony ha!_ ) were her favourites, both being majestic and associated with royalties. He knew how she adored the legends connected to those, and how much she craved to be in possession of either of them.

But given those species were strong willed and refused to hold in custody, it was particularly impossible for his mother to get any of the two in their property.

However, from her letter he knew one thing – she had to do something with Snape getting the unicorn blood. And he was not afraid to find out.


	19. Without time

His lips opened for a mute scream when seeing the red eyes of the Dark Lord, gazing back into his own, glinting maliciously at him – offering his treatment to his family in the form of a nice Avada Kedavra.

He sat up abruptly to the voice of another, screaming in a shrill, high-pitched tone, only to collide with that very human being. His eyes snapped open, seeing the widened, scared, chocolate eyes of none other, than the only Hermione Granger. She looked terrified.

"Granger?" he asked dumbly, massaging the spot where their forehead met. She seemed too occupied with studying him to even realize the pain they had caused for each other.

Sighing dramatically, Draco abandoned checking on the bump growing on his forehead and instead, waved his hand in front of the war heroine. She stilled at first, then shaking away the thoughts, she answered, "You were thrashing," Hermione said, not meeting with his eyes, "nearly strangled a pillow and your eyes were open suddenly, but... unseeing, you were 'sleeping' with open eyes," she explained and ran a finger through her ruffled hair, it reminded Draco to a ruffled mane of a fierce lion as the locks flew in every other way than the right.

"It was a nightmare," he admitted with a bitter taste and looked down on his forearm, the one were the Dark Mark laid, under the white sleeve of his uniform's shirt. His eyes narrowed, a storm reflecting in his irises. He just wished to be rid of his stigma.

Hermione nodded in acknowledgement and, as if noticing the forest green sofa for the first time, she snapped her head back at the man, "You stole that from your common room?"

He smirked at her bewildered expression quite smugly and with this, confirmed her suspicion, "The advantages of being the King," he shrugged nonchalantly.

Hermione simply whacked him on the head before graciously sitting down beside him, their tights touching. She crossed her hands in front of her chest defensively. She didn't need him flaunting his position and waiting for her to curtsey in front of his throne. "Have you found out anything about the unicorns? Newt Scamander's book seems useless in the matter. He just wrote down the common things – that even I knew from Muggle legends. It's kind of... disturbing," she confessed, but still holding up the facade of being an invincible warrior.

He grumbled something under his nose, vaguely resembling to _fuck, Granger's bullhead-ness left me with a horn,_ before answering her without words _._

Draco thrust his mother's letter in her hands, throwing his head back on the backrest. Hermione watched his careless movement, the way his Adam's apple bobbed up at down as he gulped. He was at ease with her – even comfortable, and for some reason, it made Hermione smile. Just after that she did take the expensive parchment in her hands, running her fingers along its smooth edges.

The beautiful, calligraphically curved words of Narcissa Malfoy were hardly readable for her – to curvaceous and the woman wrote like she'd never lifted the quill from the surface until her letter was finished. It was fascinating really, but took her more time to decipher.

"Well, she must know more than Newt ever did," Hermione concluded, with every of the written words, her interest increased in the mystery Narcissa Malfoy'd created with her finely composed sentences.

"That she does," Draco said absently, still gazing up at the ceiling of the unused bathroom. Myrtle floated there and waved at him, her smile so vibrant that should she be not translucent, Draco was sure it'd blind him. "Newt was more engrossed with dragons and different creatures that made at least ten attempts at his life."

He scowled at the ghost above him and looked back at Hermione, she was still a more delightful view.

She was nibbling on her lips, rereading the carefully crafted letter, her eyes narrowed and nose wrinkling in thought. Even if Draco tried to deny, she was adorable in her weird, messy way when thinking so hard that he could practically _see_ the wheels turning in her head through her skull.

"What caught your attention?" he risked asking, head tilted to the side. It was eerie how fast this girl could point out things that would have slipped his attention other way.

Hermione dragged her index finger to the line, showing it in his face, " _Be gentle if you ever meet one – they can turn ruthless in a second,_ " she said, her eyes meeting his, "this is... I've found nothing like this in any of the books. Your mother either knows something _wrong_ , or...," She left the sentence in half, looking expectantly at him. She knew he was only second best in their classes – and excelled at classes where she wasn't there to put him behind her –, but she was still curious if he was able to pick on the thread of her thoughts.

And to her satisfaction, he immediately did.

"Or she knows them too well to only know it from books," he finished in a whisper, with lips hanging open as the realization dawned on him. It hit hard. "But how? Unicorns are too proud to be held in captive. It's impossible and... and!" he stuttered helplessly, looking at Hermione for confirmation.

To his surprise, she was – yet again – nibbling on her lips in thoughts, the exact shade pof cherry pink of it was _soon_ etched firmly in Draco's mind as he couldn't help staring at it. Even though he resisted, he felt like her lips were calling out for his attention.

Something was really wrong with his head. He either needed more alcohol or no more in his life, like ever again.

He nearly jumped in his seat, when Hermione spoke up, "Draco... Do you think...," she looked straight in the quicksilver marbles, her eyes glinting in excitement, "that she had a friend in Hogwarts? I mean, a unicorn kind of friend? Or, or was she ever in Hogwarts during the war?!" she inquired with bated breath, her face getting rosier after each passing second. She looked with the additional blush _so_ much better.

As he used his brain not just for measuring the attractive girl in front of him, but to actually think it through, he needed to realize, that the solution may have been in front of their nose in the whole damn time.

And it was the problem – what they have the littlest of, was time.

Draco gulped and looked in Hermione's eyes. They may as well have to find Hagrid for a tour to the Forbidden Forest. If their suspicion was right, the unicorn would come out even by the mention of his mother's name.

Their next step was clear.

* * *

 _Just for you to know - I love writing this. There will be more ogling in the next chapters - maybe touching pinkies, too. ;D Anyway, hope you had just as much time with it as I did! Have a good day! ;D_

 _And thank you for the more than 100 reviews! I was literally jumping 'round my room in mirth! Keep up with the numbers, guys!_


	20. Dittany delivery

It was utterly pointless. Without doubts.

Hermione had kicked in every rock in the dumb forest while Draco shouted his throat dry, calling out his mother's name and not one unicorn had dared to get even relatively close – all of them ran away. It was disappointing at best.

At least some good was in the last day – she had found the Resurrection Stone. Hermione didn't tell that tid-bit of information to anyone out of fear, content to leave it at the place she managed to kick it – just under a bush, before Hagrid would have crashed it with his tones.

After accepting that, even though they were two of the brightest students, they could be wrong (sometimes), the two of them settled back to their routine. As it was Sunday evening, they were lounging in Myrtle's bathroom yet again. They had a lot of time for the potion – exactly until next day's lessons, –, and even though utterly tired and devastated, they both were stubborn and determined enough to continue on with this project and possibly keep working until dawn.

Hermione was chopping some more asphodel with Draco's knife while he was reading through his scratched notes, the more than twenty pages getting dog-eared, being crumpled and was colour coded by now as both of them had read them through at least a thousand time. The Essence of Spurius was hard enough to make – the counter potion was even harder as it turned out. They needed to be careful, she even needed to ditch some lessons in favour of finishing the potion – and that was just for the preparations.

Hermione took another flower from the basket and cut of the blossom.

When she wasn't with Draco working on her medicine she was in the library. Hermione'd got every book off the shelves that had the littlest connection to human anatomy and changes the potions caused – she was eager to find out that with knowing the ingredients and the brewing process of both potions, what their mix would cause within her body. It was always interesting to synchronize muggle science with magic, and Hermione was determined to blend them together perfectly.

So far the only thing she was sure about was for the coma that the asphodel would cause, and the sticking effect of the minerals they needed to crush. Although she hadn't an idea what they supposed to be stick together.

Sighing tiredly, she put the last portion of the asphodel flowers into a minor cauldron and started heating it up – she just needed it to get the juices out of it, it was the first real step of their potion that had nothing to do with the preparations.

Just as she put it up to boil, the door swung open and Neville strutted into the abandoned bathroom, shocked to find smoke, cauldrons and books littered around, a giggling Myrtle and a scowling Malfoy within reasonable distant from the one and only Hermione Granger.

At first he froze in his steps, watching wide-eyed as he checked once again, and then, he simply went back from the way he came from with a sharp turn. Seeing his mortified expression for a moment, Hermione thought he looked as if he was through his first ride on a roller coaster.

"Neville!" she shouted after him, and he halted just in front of the door. Even though the thick smoke cloud, she could still see how a stiff and distrusting at that moment. He couldn't quite handle the situation he was dropped in as it seemed.

He glanced at Malfoy and gave her a questioning glance, but Neville still seemed too unsure to utter a word. He had no idea that Slytherins could only bark, they bit when they or the people they loved were threatened.

She felt it would be unfair to out their secret, so she didn't tell that Neville as a convincing reason to get him to stay.

"Please, just..., try it. Look at it from my side," she pleaded, reaching towards him. She saw him grip his bag harder, the stalk of the numerous plants hanging down to his feet. It was a miracle by itself that he hadn't tripped over them.

His eyes stuck on her bare left forearm and with this, narrowed, as he took in the angry red scar of 'mudblood' for the first time. Hermione looked away, and put her hand on it to cover it from him. Damn the temperature! She'd forgotten rolling up her sleeves – so did Malfoy, she realized when sneaking a glance at him for assurance. He turned a page, absolutely blind to the interaction taking place in front of his _uppity_ nose.

She tried not to wince at the painful sensation when her skin touched the scars and she needed to bite in the inside of her cheek, lest she hissed from the pain. A little more pressure and she was sure, she'd pee herself.

But nor Neville nor Draco should know that.

"At this point, I think I can't, Hermione," Neville commented after a few calming breaths, oblivious to her trembling limbs. His tone was sad, but firm – it suggested he had no doubts in the issue. He absently looked up at the smoke that curled in the air like a fluffy, but translucent cloud on the sky. "Why are you doing this?" he asked the ceiling.

Hermione bit a little harder, drawing out blood. She didn't want to growl out her reply. "If I tell you, you'd drag more people in this than it's necessary," she stated after a bit of contemplating. "With Draco we have an agreement over this... issue. We're helping each other," she confessed quietly and moaned – the pain was increasing.

She yet again glanced at Malfoy for support or even to see if he was paying attention.

He hadn't flipped his notes in the last three minutes and it usually took him a minute and half to read a page. He was eavesdropping on them. Good.

"With _Draco_?" The usually peaceful boy's eyes flared up, giving a glance at the blond who still didn't move a muscle, full of hatred and condescending. Neville started fiddling with one of the magical plants in anger, his eyes blazed up.

Hermione was too tired for drama at this monument, "Yes, with Draco," she pressed on his name while looking straight into Neville's eyes, daring him to say more. Even without words, his opinion was radiating from him. "Neville, just give us the fucking dittany! Help us for _me_! Besides, you practically know nothing abou—!"

Suddenly she was unable to continue, the words frozen on her tongue and a scream tore her lips apart. The pain from her forearm amplified and crawled up on her entire body, forcing her on her knees as she gritted her teeth, perspiration appearing on her wrinkled forehead. It hit out of the blue just like any of the times, so hard that she was hardly able not to sob the next sentence she wanted to hurl at Neville.

She heard the two boys speak, or more like hiss at each other like angry tomcats fighting over food. Hermione didn't know what was happening around her, until she found perfectly grey, fogged eyes gazing back down at her. This was all she could hold onto. Faintly, she sensed that she was scooped up by Draco, but was unable to actually rationalize her thoughts not to mention her words. She mumbled something unintelligible.

The only thing she actually felt was the tranquillity and the soft and warm feeling which came from being held in his arms. She wanted to stay there – because the ache seemed to fade in his comfort.

Although, that didn't mean it stopped hurting like bitch. She was aware of her hot tears running down on her cheeks, even those burning her skin, and how her entire body was boiling, and the furious verbal match between the two boys, but didn't have the power to react. She just wanted to rest.

Draco cursed hotly when the moronic Gryffindor tried to stop him from getting Hermione up from the linoleum. Neville was adamant that he ' _didn't deserve to hold her in his arms_ ' and was about to take her out of his hands, but his arguments were silenced immediately when facing his freezing gaze. Also, it might've had something to do with the Dark Mark glinting mockingly at the man as his sleeves were still left rolled up in his rush to Granger.

"Just move, idiot," he scoffed and swiftly turned back toward the sofa, which was – thankfully – in the right size for Granger. Her lithe form fit there perfectly.

"Malfoy!" Longbottom started his hysterics. It was interesting, given the boy was actually scared of him in the last few year's span, "I demand answers! And don't ever let her see that _thing_ on you, ever again!"

Knowing that Gryffindors' and their stubbornness were lost cases from the beginning, he sighed and with running his hand through his bleached blonde hair, he answered, "You have nothing to do with the business I have between me and Granger. She had choices and took my side for help, not her 'posed to be friends!" He lashed out and kicked where it hurt – right in the pride. He slowly got enough of the idiots jabbing his side every time he went anywhere in the damned castle – anywhere but the Slytherin quarters.

Neville huffed and shifted his bag from his left shoulder to the other, clearly getting the hang of things, maybe even getting ashamed as his words stuck to his mind, "You're an asshole. I want _answers_!"

Draco shrugged, crouching down to get his bag and stuff Hermione's mouth with the herbs that was supposed to stop this from happening. Snape either was wrong, or the Essence of Spurius was more effective than they thought. He didn't want to mull over the second option too much.

"I won't tell you more without Hermione's consent."

Neville sniggered at that, putting his hand on his hips as if imitating a troubled wife, scolding a meddlesome husband, "I understand neither of you. Why would she seek _your_ help out ou of all of us? Or wait, better question: why would you help her? If you were helping her to begin with... Because the thing is, she'd just fainted on you! It doesn't seem to me that you're doing anything at all!" he accused, eyes flaring and seemingly ready to attack Draco.

He took his wand out and threw up a _protego_ just in time to block Neville's nasty spell. He might have had bit of talent to manage that kind of spell – he wouldn't want to get the feel of imagined needles prodding in his skin, thank you very much!

"She'll answer you whenever she wants," he spit out, sardonically and getting out a bottle of water that they had stocked from the House Elves for the night camping in the bathroom. He simply tilted the bottle and was glad he hadn't got a drop on his clothes like he would've with _aguamenti_.

"What are you doing?" Neville demanded, stepping closer to him.

He rolled his eyes dramatically, "Trying to drown her," and then in a second, Neville was there, breathing down on his neck menacingly, observing every of his move. He knew if one more word, he might got hexed with an even nastier curse.

Neville started circling the sofa, waiting anxiously for the colour to come back on Granger's face. Even her usually rosy lips seemed translucent without her blood in there. "Just put the dittany down, Longbottom, and go," he instructed which earned him a dirty look.

He couldn't be more careless.

So he sat down beside the sofa, looking at the ceiling, listening to the bubbling of the asphodel's and entirely ignoring Neville Longbottom as he paced around the bathroom _(like a freaking bloodhound_ ) in the next two _very_ long hours. He poked and watched everything with paranoid precision to Myrle's amusement. She knew for sure there was nothing dangerous there anymore.

She'd been living in here for the last fifty years – she was bound to know anything about it.

* * *

 _Longer than expected, hope you liked it! ;D Now, I'm really curious, what do you think now? I, personally, love the image of Neville going around school with an entire forest stuffed in his bag. And Hermione's magic x science combo? I always wondered why they didn't study e.g the Polyjuice's effect on human anatomy as the bones grew or hair grew or... yeah, I'm clearly a nerd._

 _Rhetorical question: do you want to see Narcissa? ;D_


	21. On Hogwarts' grounds

She was on the verge of hysteria after reading the entire Malfoy history at one go, seeking out one of Draco's mental ancestors who might have had the flask created. She eyed the expensive, probably Goblin-made artefact in front of her, squinting and trying to determine which century it was made in. It glinted back at her mockingly, as if saying: ' _you'll never figure me out_ '.

Hermione scowled – even if going slowly but surely insane, she would not let a Malfoy heirloom outsmart her.

However, this task was tricky as she tried to search for especially insane people, or those who had great interest in dark arts. Turned out there were at least two mental Malfoys in every decade of the last thousand years or so –, so it was really hard to get them all checked and look into the biography of the most suspicious ones. She couldn't even complain about it as Draco was in lesson, she was the only one debating over it.

As deputy Head Girl she had the liberty to do whatever she wanted until she was still on the top of the classes – so she didn't worry much about a missed lecture. Even if Draco had the same opportunities (in theory) he was unable to, since his sentence made it clear – he should attend every of the lessons, unless being sick.

Rubbing the sockets of her eyes with her palms, Hermione sighed. Her part of their bargain proved to be more difficult that she'd expected at first sight. She should really go to the grounds for a refreshing stroll and knowing Draco – he would be snooping around the Forbidden Forest in desperate attempt to get a unicorn to give them blood –, she expected him to be there, too.

With getting a silk cloth – obviously Malfoy's, as he was unsatisfied with a rubbing cloth to pack his flask in it – she was ready to go. Hermione got her hands on that last day, telling him she'd really like to study the cursed object before starting anything.

She was walking in the speed of a dying snail as she dragged herself down on the few hundred or so steps, her bag weighting her shoulder, the six ancient books tucked inside, hidden by the undetectable extension charm.

Everything seemed peaceful – well until the shouting reached her ears and suddenly she rushed forward, recognising Pansy's voice out of the mass of shouting. Hermione dropped her bag when seeing the crowd circling the eight year Slytherins.

She pushed a few firsties aside, watching with bated breath the aurors forced the entire lot on their knees. Pansy struggled, barking on the men that they do not touch her or else, while the others were silent – bearing the treatment with straight back, gazing at the people daringly.

Hermione didn't know how so, but they looked graceful, even if there were at least two aurors beside each of them, holding them back from even moving a muscle in their little finger.

"What any of you did to harm Miss Granger?" demanded the head auror, studying the students with utter disgust etched in his features. He looked like a hog as he gritted his teeth, threatening to attack.

Wait. What?

It was Nott who answered him, his firm voice ranging on the ground, echoing in her ears for moments, "We're under no obligation to answer without our liaisons."

The man's eyes glinted cruelly as he bent down to be in eye level with him, Theo glaring in his orbs indifferently. It just seemed to egg him on furthermore, as he snarled at the boy, "If I tell you to speak, Mr. Nott, you see, you're obliged to speak."

Hermione frowned at the arrogant idiot, crossing her arms out of irritation, "Actually that's not true."

And just like that, everyone was observing her form. Some of the students even stepped back from her, out of fear. It was suddenly overwhelming to be in the middle of attention – but she couldn't let the idiots do as they wished. Anyway, where was McGonagall now?

"Care to enlighten me, missy?" asked the rude man, obviously not recognising her. She saw Draco huff a breath and Pansy stop fighting, only to snicker under her nose at the man's idiotism.

They must have been really in need of people in the Ministry, if this figure got to be an executive in the MLE's department. It was actually troubling.

The man sneered at her when she refused to be intimidated by their difference in height as he stomped forward, – he was a good five inches taller than her, his bulky figurine reminded her of Victor Krum. At least the Quidditch star _had something to work with._

"Why, yes," she started haughtily in a way she'd seen the Slytherins speak in the last years. _Gods_ , Draco's superiority must have rubbed on her, "According to the Book of Britain Magical Laws, seventh edition, law: hundred-and-eighty-six, a student of Hogwarts should only be interrogated by Ministry officials and obliged to answer if one Professor or parent is in presence, even though the individual is of age. So to speak, any of them is not under obligation to answer any of your questions. Besides, there should be proper interrogation held for the case with official documents that attests to this scene being ordered by the Wizengamot, – but as I see, this could only be as random as Divination is in general," and she rolled her eyes at the end, just for the greater effect.

At the end of her lecture, most of the people were frozen in their spot, some of them bearing an utterly dumbfounded mimic. She scoffed, just because she was able to quote something back and forth and add things that were for her advance? It was ridiculous – as if she hadn't been doing the same in all of her school years.

"Well, you might be their ally, then. Who are you then, little chit?" The head auror tried again with baiting her (it took him three minutes to recover), his condescending look only ruffled up her feathers more.

 _Oh, did he have the nerve!_

Before Hermione would have been able to continue on Pansy just simply lost her shit, laughing freely at the idiot; her raspy, hoarse voice making some of the younger ones flinch back. It was not unpleasant per se, but not the voice a lot of them heard before.

"Is she mental?" the other official narrowed his eyes at the Parkinson, trying to drag her back on her knees instead of her hunched up position. As it seemed she was on the verge of spitting out her lungs with the vehemence she guffawed.

"She just likes laughing," Blaise commented with a grimace wondering if his girlfriend had gone mad for the rest of their remaining life. He winced when she didn't stop, "Now, this is more like a cry of a dying bird, Pans."

With some of the officials shrugging, their attention turned back on her, head auror quirking his brows at her, in manner of: ' _I'm waiting_ '.

Hermione jutted out her chin arrogantly and attempted to go for a malicious smirk that Draco wore so often, it kind of stuck on her, too. "Hermione Jean Granger, at your services. And I assure you, who hurt me the most is long dead. Drag Bellatrix Lestrange out of her grave and she could tell you a nice story about an interrogation and the potion that's slowly killing me from the insides."

For a moment, everything had stopped; every move from the crowd, every voice muted to nothing, she wondered if the time did, also, – everything beside the replaying, boisterous laughter from Pansy. This time it was bitter.

Looking at her from side-ways, Hermione noticed: Pansy was crying.


	22. Vindico Parea

The steady rhythm of knocking high-heels made her stir from her half-asleep state. Hermione was sitting on the hard chess board patterned linoleum for more than six hours by now, her head lolled back. She looked at the arriving person sleepily, her eyes meeting with glacial, blue eyes, simply questioning the raw fact of her presence.

Ah, Narcissa Malfoy née Black.

Even if she wanted to greet the woman, her vocal chords felt frozen in her throat. She merely nodded toward the worried mother and was back to her former activity, so trying to sleep at three in the morning. It took more than four hours to persuade McGonagall to let her go after Draco – he was dragged through the entire Hogwarts, humiliated and shown to every student as the Death Eater. The professors did nothing to help him or stop the Ministry monkeys.

He's been in the interrogation room for eight and a half hours by now. Only because he was related to Bellatrix Lestrage. The other Slytherins at lest were released without any hysterics from the head auror. And McGonagall had the gall to call that out as a promising ending!

She snorted.

They didn't even hear her out – didn't even want to hear her side of the story, or how Draco was the one who was fixing her up, both mentally and physically. They were only interested to get him to be blamed and got him what his father still didn't. She was sure by morning this would make a nice front page on the Prophet.

Her lips quivered, the tears welling up in her eyes. It was so fucking unfair. Those Ministry monkeys knew next to nothing.

She sighed audibly and looked back longingly at the big, oak door for at least the thousands time this day. If she was just to bang it down... there were some advantages of being a war heroine, so she was sure she'd be forgiven. Maybe she should get Kingsley.

She failed to notice the icy, prying glance of the woman due to exhaustion. She only realized the Malfoy matriarch was still, in fact, there, when she opened her mouth.

"Are you here for who exactly, Miss Granger? "

Hermione flinched back and abruptly snapped her head back from the door to the woman. Her vision was blurry as Narcissa's face was without contours and she needed to blink a few time to have a clear image of the older but undoubtedly beautiful witch. She was elegant, just in dark robes and standing above her as imposingly as possible. She looked calm, even though both of them knew how their nerves were on the verge of breaking.

"I think you have a suspect, Mrs. Malfoy," she answered flatly, her voice strained.

Something lighted up in Narcissa's eyes as she moved with grace to cross the aisle.

The next Hermione knew was that the beautiful witch was suddenly sitting beside her, on the floor, knees up high and hugging them tightly to her chest.

Her brown eyes were about to fall out of their sockets. It was something she'd not expected like, ever to happen. "I don't understand," she said the only thing that struck to her mind. Shouldn't this woman, maybe, hate her? For being rivals with her son, for being in different sides of a war or for staining her Persian carpets with her filthy blood back at her only visit at Malfoy Manor?

It was hard to gulp back the urge to retch. Her hell was in her own head as it seemed for a passing moment.

She forced her mind to concentrate on more cheerful things for the better outcome; things she treasured. The time with Harry and Ron, nights at the Gryffindor tower after Seamus had perfected the spell of making rum from water, the adventures and the thrill it caused within her – it always made her heart pound harder and her fingers twitch in anticipation. The moment when the Battle of Hogwarts had finally ended, the minute when she had the first tattoo, the feeling of freedom, her given name rolling off of Malfoy's tongue for the first time...

He called out for her: ' _Hermione_ ,' so desperate, so firm, but still, so lubberly too. However, he still was demanding, not even asking her to turn back, but right out commanding it. Thinking back, it came out really amusing – he, Draco Malfoy, calling for her and she stormed away and threw a whiskey bottle to kill some mermaids.

A dumb smile of relief slipped on her lips as she was looking down on her left forearm; it'd not require that much of time now, they'd solve their problems in a few months prior. He just needed to get away from the Ministry.

Perfectly manicured fingers swam in her vision and Narcissa pulled away her hair from the side of her cheek, revealing her tattoo, the one with the Serpent, Draco's constellation. Her other hand found her left forearm, elegant fingers circling it – the letters pulsating under her touch.

She didn't move, even if her face suggested she was disgusted. It must have been disturbing at best for such fine lady as Narcissa Malfoy.

Hermione was hardly able not to scowl.

"You've survived quite some horrors, Miss Granger," Narcissa said, ignoring Hermione's prejudice that radiated from her. She smiled at the Gryffindor, and then, she pointedly glanced at the side of her cheeks, her voice light; like she was talking to some kind, "Even if unintentionally, _this_ must have meant something to you to have it sewn in your skin for a lifetime."

"It still _does_ ," she pressed on, with steady fire blazing in her brown eyes. "However, I don't see why you'd be concerned. The constellation fits the scar, and that's merely it."

Narcissa pulled up a perfectly shaped eyebrow: _really?_

Hermione confirmed with her hardened stare, the often so kind chocolate balls now were full of rebellion and determination. _Really_.

Mrs. Malfoy bristled at that, her fingers grabbing on the cloth of her shirt and rolling it up in a hasty movement, not even leaving her an option to escape. Her mouth was pressed in a thin line when seeing the barbaric art her sister had carved in her skin. It was a life-long scar and both knew it.

"This is why you need it," she concluded, her index finger just merely grazing the letters, and it still made Hermione flinch and grit her teeth. Her foot dabbed on the floor rhythmically to count the seconds and have her mind occupied with anything but the pain.

"Pardon?" she squeezed out with the departing air.

"The unicorn blood," she answered flippantly as if that was a daily topic that came up during brunches with her associates. Narcissa was always a good observant she spotted as Hermione's jaw tightened at even the mention of it. "You're brewing the Vindico Parea, don't you, child?"

"I'd prefer you call me miss, and not just a child. I brought down your psychopathic leader, you know," she replied and she received back a wolfish grin from the woman, obviously amused by her sharp tongue. "But yes, though I was not aware it was called the revenge of the fate."

Narcissa shook her head, smiling at the girl, "No, not as revenge. It's more like salvation by the Goddess of Fate. Draco should have told you more."

Hermione gulped, eyes wide as her words stuck to her brain, running in replay for a minute or so.

"He knows _more_ than he lets on?" she asked with small voice, her lips trembling and the feeling of betrayal set loose in her chest. She trusted in him, she fucking tossed her life in his hands and still, he didn't tell her _everything_ he knew?

 _Now, now, that'd be foolish to end me as I'm the only one who can help you before your freaking die_.

She bit in her lower lip. Hard.

 _Don't worry your pretty, bushy head about those, I'll get them_.

Could it be? Had he made the potion before? Bellatrix had the poison as a weapon; she was crazy thus she must have tested it on other Death Eaters! Not just on people like her! Malfoy must have had experience with the brewing. Even though it most probably had literally no effect on the Death Eaters.

He must be more familiar with it than she'd thought.

 _Allies for our lives or enemies for your death?_

Her breathing quickened as tears welled in her eyes, her eyes became unfocused. She felt Narcissa's clutch tighten on her hand and as she whimpered quietly, unable to look at the blonde witch.

Her life was at stake and she was _fucking_ betrayed.

Just before she could have panic, her soothing voice made her pay attention, trying to deter her thoughts back to their conversation, "I assume you've tried approaching the unicorns as by now, am I right, child?"

Hermione merely nodded, her gaze settled on the floor flicking between the white and black tiles of the floor. She felt desperate. "The dragon scales are already... here. The blood is the one missing... Don't call me child."

Narcissa seemed to debate over something for minutes, looking away from her, but holding her firmly, knowing well enough that, that was her only clinging point to reality. Even though the Malfoy matriarch's efforts, all the war heroine heard, during this time, was the frantic beating of her own heart.

"Estrella was murdered during the Battle of Hogwarts. It was my own sister who killed her. Maybe, her foals..." Suddenly realizing that the brunette was not the least listening, she warningly squeezed her hand one more time. "Her foals, I'm sure, they'd help you. Do you hear me, Miss Granger? The foals."

Hermione nodded with glassy eyes, repeating the name of her friend and the word of foals over and over, so it was properly and unforgettably in her mind.

Just before she could have answered properly, the big oak door was torn open and a clearly pissed auror rushed outside with hissing curses under his breath, leaving a calmly smirking Draco in the room.

Narcissa abruptly leapt on her feet to rush to her son, her son she'd not seen since her own trial, two weeks before he went back to Hogwarts.

And Hermione just sat there, forgotten.

* * *

 _Some things are uncovered. Have any interesting ideas? ;D (and sorry for nor updating yesterday, I just had half of it, and Fridays are my sport days - meaning I arrive home at six. Drag myself inside the house like a snail with artificial gastropods. Yeah, that serious.) Hope you enjoyed it!_

 _And also, for the name of the potion: Vindico Parea - I was just using a Latin dictionary. But, Vindico really has those two meanings (rather contradictiory, if you ask me, which is amazing!) And Parea really does mean the Goddess of Fate. Or I hope and pray that the dictionary was not only for making me look like an idiot. Have a good weekend!_


	23. Shoulder to lean on

She didn't know what was going on anymore.

Ginny sighed and ran her fingers through her tangled up, ginger hair. It was a mess as she hadn't the time to brush it properly during the last day. When she was not on lessons, she listened to the rumours that Hermione Granger defended the Slytherins, but wasn't able to save every one of them – and apparently she had been attacked by Bellatrix on school grounds... hah _rumours_! However, for that one, with Draco Malfoy being taken away by Ministry officials..., it proofed to be accurate. When the clock hit two, she was given to opportunity to encounter with him.

The aurors were barking at him, condescendingly sneering at his way as he was pulled forward on his knees to show it to the entire school, like a special but dangerous animal, being the latest hit of news.

A part of her was a slightly bit grateful for that – she'd not decided if she would forgive him for all he did during the war and the years before to her family, her friends, and especially to Harry Potter. There were people who cheered for the aurors, then, there were the ones who turned away as if not seeing the thing could keep their hands clean.

And she just shrugged and turned away, being indifferent, as if that would be of common occurrence; just because the blonde brat needed someone to make him mop up the floor. It was in time after all he'd done.

Or she thought so, until bumping in Hermione in one of the corridors, her hair uncontrollable, her eyes unfocused and she seemed frantic, flinching at everything. They talked, although Ginny was sure Hermione didn't even process her words, answering her back automatically and then going forward. Every of her second sentence was somehow related to Draco Malfoy and it made Ginny queasy at first, then think.

She suspected that something was up between the two. She just hoped it was nothing romantic – it would go against of the Law of the goddamned _Universe_ if those two were to be romantically involved. They were different on so many ways, so edged and so... outside of each other's reach, always at each other's throat, always feared by others, but respected none the less (minus respective members of the other's house).

It just _felt_ wrong.

Apparently, Neville'd thought the same thing. He told her the time, three days ago, when finding those two together in the abandoned bathroom, brewing something that was definitely not for potions lesson, even if they were in the N.E.W.T.S. class. He told her about Hermione's suspicious behaviour and then the worrying thing: she just lost consciousness, fell on the floor like a damn stick, flat on the stomach. Without any reasons. According to Neville, she was talking to him, trying to persuade him, and then the next moment, she was screaming like she was being skinned.

It scared him shitless – also would have her, too! –, and then Draco Malfoy simply _just_ swaggered there and saved the day.

So, after listening to Hermione scream McGonagall's head for more than half an hour for her lack of activity over the aurors' appearance and her doing nothing, Ginny decided where he next journey would lead: Myrtle's bathroom.

She banged at the door, tried to perish Hermione's wards from the area, and after losing her patience, she ended up _bombarda maximaing_ the wood, shrapnel as thick as her forearm flew all around as the castle bended to her will.

Ginny wasn't even concerned by the ghost screaming bloody murder at her entry, because when stepping inside the bathroom, she was awestruck: the place resembled anything but a bathroom.

Smoke as white and fluffy as clouds on the sky made it barely possible to see through, although the dull gleams of different cauldrons caught her eyes. Those lined up in the circular basins near the entry of the Chamber of Secrets, from where above, big, lanky plants' hang, fixed there by sticking charms. The mirrors showed everything back, creating a weird labyrinth; Ginny hardly knew anymore what was reflection or actual subject.

As she walked forward, she saw a sofa in the middle, three cushions over it – them, being the very same Gryffindor-red she had so well known. It was obviously from their common room, and the distinctive emerald green of the antique couch was a foreteller of its origin.

Those two sure had made a nice little hideout for their little projects!

So she ended up staying, driven by her pure curiousness. She conversed with the ghost idly – after Myrtle managed to calm down and dived back for a few hours to her favourite cubicle – and waited for Hermione. She'd come back there, Ginny knew her well-enough to know that she'd want to make all the proof untraceable and strengthen the wards, if for nothing more.

Then the minutes turned hours and the next she knew she was drowsing on the couch, bored out of her mind with counting the tiles on the floor and trying to indentify the potion they were brewing with the ingredients she recognised. There were too much of everything to just make one potion out of all.

And then, around four in the morning, Hermione dashed inside, not even noticing the door's absence. If possible she was in an even worse state that she had been when Ginny had last seen her, now with tears trailing down on her face, her cheeks reddened to the point that it could have competed with her hair and her positure so tense, she was sure every of her muscles were on the point of cramping, her breathing hitching and shaky like a month-eaten wooden ladder, unable to hold out.

If Hermione had noticed her, she ignored her on purpose, desperate to have her raging emotions out of her system. She was crying herself to relief with her back hunched and hugging herself, on the floor, sitting near the couch.

She looked pathetic.

Ginny gulped, now fully awake and asked with a small voice, "Are you okay?"

Her head snapped up, just now seeing her truly. Her lips trembled ridiculously, and then, the next Ginny knew that the infamous war heroine was taking her under her custody: holding her like a spidermonkey would its mom.

Awkwardly, and definitely not used to these kind of eruptions from the other girl, Ginny patted the top of her equally tangled hair, trying to sooth her, "Hermione, without telling me what's going on, I won't be able to help. What's with the nonsense of _Bellatrix_ of all people," she immediately wished she hadn't said the wench name as the deputy Head Girl's sobs intensified at that very moment, "And Malfoy, the other Slytherins, and this place... this is just utter nonsense, Hermione! Please, just talk, what's—"

"He lied!" she gritted out suddenly, her hot tears making Ginny shiver after the direct contact with her skin. "He fucking withheld something that might be important! Draco knows more! And was not inclined to inform me, even though it could mean life or _fucking_ death for me! He... he... Draco asked me if I chose to be enemies for my death or— or allies for our lives! And he _betrayed_ me!"

In the end her voice rose about an octave higher than usually her normal, awkwardly shutting down at the end and even making herself wince at it. Yes, it was that shrilly.

Looking up with blotchy eyes, now somewhat relieved even by blurting out her problems, she caught Ginny's utterly confused expression, her mind probably shutting down the moment she called Malfoy at his given name.

She didn't even know when she started using it, herself. It was a sign of trust, Hermione knew that, but she didn't even know when he'd earned it! It was all so confusing and she was emotionally drained, and she felt dumb for even believing in his alliance. It was a mistake – she decided, even though this simple thought wound her more than the entire betrayal thing.

Ugh, this was just going to be even worse at this rate.

Ginny shake some sense in her head after a minute just filled with Hermione's pitiful sniffing, and then finally caught on, "Tell me everything, or I swear I will go and burn down their precious manor out of spite."

Hermione risked a weak grin at her, and then started explaining, from the moment they had first remet after the war – in the muggle tattoo salon. Even if it made her think about nothing but the feeling of disappointment, it caused a tiny bit of flutter in the pit of her stomach, and an itty-bitty wave of warmth spreading from her heart. She needed to realize, even if he was a perfect arsehole, his comments lacked maliciousness.

Maybe, it was because she had so many cracks she intended to cover with the tattoos, sew it back, but still, they let out her emotions and those ended up mixed in her body. And she ended up weeping in between Ginny's arms, repeating his reassuring, giving her the false safety she now came to cherish in his presence.

She was not sure of anything anymore, but that: she was a tiny bit broken, after all.

* * *

 _Life is shitty, I hate Maths, and I'm gonna be free of school by Thrusdays! Yay - also, the first two were the reasons of the lack of updates. Sorry._


	24. The Triple-Slap

It'd been two weeks since he had seen her.

Draco, nibbling on his lower lip – that undoubtedly, was her effect on him – sank in the sofa, waiting for her. She should have been here for half an hour. No, scratch that, she should have been here for the past two weeks.

He scoffed at the floating ghost and stubbornly looked away, choosing the mirrors, and facing his miserable look with it. He looked pathetic, holding onto a girl who was clearly adamant on avoiding him. Though, he hadn't a clue why that was the current case.

Checking on the time with a quick _tempus_ , he sat up to stir the boiling asphodel juice, even its smell making him feel dizzy it was that intense. Even if Hermione gave up on their project, he decided he wouldn't. It still meant she was to die if it was not ready on time, and he refused to lose one more life when he was able to help. So much blood had stuck to his hands already; he didn't want to add one more to the uncountable.

Draco supposed that was one of the reasons why he had helped her. It would be a shame to lose one of the greatest minds in their time, Hermione still had a lot to do, a lot of changes to make and a career in politics surely awaited for her. Though it seemed platonic, he believed in her success, even without her knowledge.

So he continued on brewing, one time even calling on sick to add cobra skin to the potion. It had a specific timing, and it turned out it was in the middle of his Potions lesson. Thankfully, Slughorn never asked many questions – especially from the members of his house –, so he got out of trouble before even getting into it.

However, he knew he can't continue all alone – there were too much risk for him to start rebelling even for her sake, and if they didn't finish it in time... He needed to seek her out to tell her what his mother had told him. It was more than important for successfully making Vindico Parea.

Without the door in entire piece – he wondered who was _that_ idiotic to blast the entire thing off its hinges –, it was hard to know if someone was in front of the wards or was ready to break them. Even though he had clearly heard the steps, he didn't waste much thought to them.

Hard metal crashed against his skull, making him headbutt the edge of the cauldron, and that specified the intruder's identity _very_ clearly.

He wasn't disappointed when hearing Pansy's scratchy laughter at the sight of him smoothing the bumps on his head – the front and the back, simultaneously.

Only she would be that big of a hog to throw a weapon of this calibre in the mist, without knowing if anyone was there. He sometimes wondered why he needed enemies if his friends were this sympathetic.

"Nice to see you," he drawled with a grimace, careful of his steps toward the sofa. Damn it, he might have had a slight concussion as he was slightly dizzy. "Care to explain why you here, o-mighty-Pugness?"

If the two injuries weren't enough for his poor self, Pansy even gave him a kick to his sheen for the name of adornment. "That's for your rudeness, Draco," she prodded and perched down beside him, rolling her eyes when seeing the new addition to the familiar couch: the red cushions. Yes, sure they were comfy... but too atrocious compared to the antique furniture.

Truly, it just looked ridiculous.

Nevertheless it did not hold back Pansy to lean against it.

"And what was the former for?" he demanded, burrowing his head in one of the lion-patterned pillows. No doubt, he was trying to suffocate himself to avoid being abused by a wench. Best line would that make in the graveyard, he was sure.

"Draco, you're an idiot," he didn't need to look up to know Pansy was crossing her legs and her arms, condescendingly glancing around the room. She was not that fascinated with design. "I ran into Weaslette. She told me something interesting."

Wonderful.

With his aching head and blurred eyesight, attempting suicide, the only thing he needed was to know more of the redheaded Quidditch disaster's surely life-changing problems involving Potter. He hadn't the time for this and Pansy should have known better.

However, Pansy didn't let him start complaining.

The plus weight lifted itself from near him and looking up, he saw Pansy crouching down for something shiny and with grace she lifted it, only to show it in his face. The flask.

"What?" he asked very intelligibly, confused and surprised beyond all possibility. His eyes threatened to pop out as he studied the artefact, the engravings and patterns of skulls, roses, birds and the big, unmistakable M on the clasp – it was his, the Malfoy heirloom that supposed to be in Granger's possession. "How is it...?"

Pansy flashed him a lethal grin, like a shark ready to devour its prey, "I told you I spoke with the Wealette, didn't I?"

Running his tongue along his perfect, pristine teeth, he waited in anticipation for her to continue.

Of course, it wouldn't be Pansy if she was to give him an easy time for once in his life. She remained in silence. The only thing he heard was the sizzling noise from the boiling asphodel.

"Pansy," he warned, " _talk_ ," and then, he commanded.

Her grin widened, showing all her also perfect, pristine and glowing white teeth, the dark maroon lipstick in sharp contrast with them as she finally spoke, "Ginny said I should double-slap you, then, after hearing tid-bits from her, I decided on a triple-slap. That was what you received the moment I stepped through the arch—"

"Door. There was a door here," he grumbled, still confused, but at least glad he didn't need to hear the Weaslette's Potty-problems.

Pansy shushed him, picking up her tirade from where she left, "The thing is, Draco, I thought you were together with Granger."

Now _that_ he hadn't expected.

The hysterical laugh broke free from his lungs as he bent forward out of the absurdity of the statement. Granger would never...!

"And... you, you, Pansy Parkinson thought that to be _true_?" he guffawed uncontrollably, tears burning his eyes, but he refused to give in temptation. Granger was not on his league, impossible to get and this girl just thought he could get to the unreachable? "This is universally ridiculous."

Pansy narrowed her cold, coal eyes to slits, clearly considering murder, if the lightning reflecting in them were any of indication to Draco. She scowled at him, "Brown noticed you passing notes during classes and started asking around. Theo heard her, and imagine my surprise when the last time I see the both of you together was when you were occupied with shouting the other's head off. The last clue was when she went bonkers over your safety a fortnight ago... She actually went against McGonagall to get to you. All Slytherin assumed that their King found his match, and now it's as well as a fact down in the dungeons."

His laughter quieted down by the time she finished, looking up at her with open mouth, "You actually believed in this? All Slytherin believe in this?"

Pansy confirmed it with a firm nod. That was when his head started to spin, never mind the injuries.

He massaged the bridge of his nose in thought. Something really doesn't fit in this idealistic, utopian reality "Although, there's a mistake," he looked up at her, the silver clouds swirling in his irises, "She wasn't in the Ministry. It was just my mother, and definitely not _Hermione_."

Parkinson tilted her head to the side looking at him pointedly, but still perplexed by him using Granger's given name so easily. It was new, and the way it rolled from his tongue suggested gentleness.

She shook her head after a few sobering moments to process the information he provided, "No, she must have gone to the Ministry. Her raged rants and screaming were echoing all around, but around ten, she shut it. We assumed she went there because Longbottom was in our quarters, thinking she was weeping in your pillows, to quote precisely," she pointedly looked him in the eyes, "Draco, she wasn't in the Gryffindor Tower that night, nor was she elsewhere in the castle."

He sucked in a sharp breathe, the air whistling between his teeth. He let his head fell on the backrest, looking up at the ceiling, his hands automatically running up to grab on his pale blonde locks and tugging on them to get rid of the frustration. It helped little, "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck," he chanted, " _Fucking_ fuck."

"What now?" Pansy demanded, her hands finding her wide hips as she played the role of the strict and impatient McGonagall, but in a younger and more enticing version.

"She must have spoken with my mother."

"Which is problem because?"

"I don't know," he confessed, too afraid to think of the opportunity he knew was bound to reveal itself.

If that was the case, he was utterly and throughoutly _fucked_.

* * *

 _This chapter is for LightofEvolution because I laughed so much on your lecture to Ginny. ;D At least Pansy knew better and believed... even though it's not true (ehe, just not true at this point) School has finally ended, so I'll try to go back the weekly two chapters-system, but I shouldn't promise anything..._

 _Also, I'm up on tumblr, now it's entirely HP related, so if you wish?: aischenna dot tumblr dot com._


	25. Maybe

He knew where to find her – in the library, of course. Where else? – he snorted out of dismay before dragging himself up on the moving staircases. So, after playing out at least twenty scenarios in his head, knowing that none of them would be sufficient as Hermione's reaction was impossible to foresee at best, he stepped into the maze of books for the purpose of cornering her.

They needed to speak and there was no more time to waste on hiding from each other.

So he strutted to her well-known alcove, smirking ear to ear when seeing her nose buried deep in a book, thus not even noticing him approach. The light crease between her brows and the dabbing of her index finger on the leather surface was a firm confirmation of his assumption.

Fuelled by the need for petty revenge for not showing up in the bathroom or either helping him with the potion, he simply touched his flask to her leg, awaiting her response. She squealed, feeling the cold metal against her bare skin and threw the book away. It collided with the wall.

Even just catching a glimpse, he knew it was about magical creatures, unicorns to be precise.

"What's your problem?" she attacked, immediately on her feet and looking at Draco with eyes full of venom. The smirk melted down from his face.

He sighed, "So you fixed the flask," he concluded. "I thought it would cause you bigger harm than a timid yelp."

"Yes, and you get out of your hiding place, I see," she lashed out, her hair flying in every way with her intense gesticulation. She shook her head, visibly having enough even by the sight of him, "Wait," she stopped herself, "You weren't sure if I had managed to fix that," and with pointing a vicious finger at him that jabbed him in the sternum, she accused, "And still, you touched it to me! You knew what it could cause! I could have been _burned_ , Malfoy!"

He merely nodded not even trying to feign being impressed and this only earned him a glare. But before she could have hurled a hex at him, he managed to grab her wrist, stopping her in the middle of a feisty non-verbal spell, intended to blast off his head from his neck.

"Calm down, Granger. You know me – I like to experiment," he offered, cocking an arrogant brow at her direction. She tried to jerk her hand away from his clutch, but he didn't let her – it would surely mean more harm to his poor self. "But, humour aside, we need to speak. I came with peace, Granger."

At that she narrowed her eyes, "With trying to burn me? Thanks, but next time I'd like to avoid your rare displays of politeness towards my _kind_." Her teeth gritted together as she pressed on the last word. Draco pretended not to understand, "Mudblood, remember?" and at that, she waved toward herself with her free hand, irritated that the other was still his prisoner, "Thought I was inferior to you," she spat.

"Don't call yourself a Mudblood," he hissed, letting go of her wrist. He watched it fell beside her.

She scoffed at his words, and was ready to flee the room, or more likely from him, but before she could have ducked away, he stepped closer, making her back away. One step forward for him meant one step backward for her. They continued with the weird dance, until her back was flush against the bookshelves.

"This does not change the fact that we must speak," he pressed on, nearly melting her timid form in the wood. "Granger, we don't have time for your hysterics."

She bristled at that, her eyes glinting at him with malicious glee as he was sure she was in the middle of planning his demise. She fisted her hands beside her as she took of a stance with determination, pressing against his chest, and nearly throwing him off balance with its intensity.

She punched him in the gut as an answer. "And we don't have time for you playing around with lives either," she said with shaky, but firm voice, the tears threatening to escape from her hazel eyes.

Draco cursed his luck, clutching his side with one hand as he bent forward, getting in eye-level with the deputy Head Girl. With his other hand he held himself up, leaning to the bookcase, just near Hermione's head, thus whispering the strained words in her face, "Damn it Granger, I was not _playing_."

Hermione rolled her eyes, not even slightly intimidated by his close proximity like before, "And I'm sure you were also not just _playing_ when you conveniently forgot to tell me more of the Vindico Parea. For example it's true name," she emphasised, scowling at him with the same expression he often used on others.

Draco rolled his stormy marbles; _that_ close to lose his shit, "Granger, don't be a dolt! Just because you didn't know its name, it doesn't mean I withheld anything! For all I know, my mother used that expression. That was the first time I heard it, too. No other and no book mentioned it. To hell, not even Snape's portrait told me the last time we spo—!"

" _Last time_?" she demanded, cutting him off and immediately picking up on his mistake, "Last time, you say, Draco? You spoke with Snape more than one time? Without telling me?"

 _Fuck_ – he cursed inwardly – _fuck, fuck, fuck_. He hammered his head for any ideas to get her still and listen to him, because the way their conversation took was everything but not to his advances.

"No, I didn't," he answered with a neutral expression, but seeing her eyes glint in the faint lighting, he knew she didn't buy it.

" _Liar_ ," she spat.

Now that was a low blow. He stumbled backwards, her word echoing in his head, throwing itself against his skull just to bounce back with full force and slap him all across his face, repeatedly.

He hated that word, purely, and of course she needed to use the only one word that still could make his carefully built up walls crumble. Hell, she could have hurled asshole, git, white bouncy ferret at him, but none of them would have struck the way _liar_ did.

It was sobering and made his back ache with awareness.

"Hermione," he asked – for what he didn't even know – with the most gentle tone he might have ever used; his hand opening up for hers, hopeful. "I... I'm... that is not how I—!"

Defiantly turning her head away she waved at him like he was of no importance, like he wasn't even worthy of her attention, and Draco became painfully aware how her trust slipped out of his hands. She put every of her hope in him, his help and his abilities and now, it all seemed to have been evaporated from his gentle cradle.

"Just tell me what I did," he asked once more, now looking down on the tiles, marvelling how it reflected the both of them, Hermione with a stubborn posture, chin held upwards proudly like a warrior lioness she was, and him, brooding and lost like a kicked out puppy. It was truly pathetic. "You just disappear for two weeks, not even saying a word to anyone and hiding in your damned tower for no purpose at all! And then, out of no- _fucking_ -where, I became the bad guy! Again! What the fuck have I done to you, Hermione?"

"It's called betrayal, Draco," she snapped and was about to turn away and leave him for good, but his fingers suddenly found her wrist and pulling her back to her former position, he towered above her.

She could feel his hot breaths fanning over her cheeks, his closeness making goose-bumps appear on her skin. She felt the healthy blush occupy her cheeks and the way their chests met up while they drank the air in big slurps. It moved something within her, but for what direction, she had no idea.

"You know nothing of it," he muttered in a way that made all the hair stand up proudly on her body, the shiver running a marathon over her spine making her bent forward and more of their body-parts touch, directly.

She was sure he could feel her breasts firmly pushed against his rock hard pectoral, but he didn't show whether he was aware of that or not. But seeing the nerves clearly displayed on his face and not buried under his usual, insensitive mask, she was sure it had slipped his attention.

"There are things you know nothing of, Hermione Granger. And my business is one of them," he drawled in her earlobes, his hot exhales grazing her skin and she felt the heat roll in her abdomen. "Don't _ever_ try to understand," he snarled.

For moments all they heard from the outside of their private bubble was their rushed breaths, and Hermione needed minutes to realize what had just happened, before answering.

"Jean," he lifted an arrogant eyebrow at her, demanding her to continue. The gentleness in her voice surprised him and he wasn't sure where to put her reaction, "Hermione Jean Granger," she amended defiantly, and he sucked in a sharp breath, surely out of irritation.

"Whatever," he said in the end, and pressing her a little more in the books that were now hurting her back, he added, "And don't forget to be in the bathroom tomorrow. I need... company," not help, definitely not, because it would have sounded more pathetic than Draco had already felt. So he chose to demand instead of ask, and said company instead of help.

She seemed like she knew exactly what he tried to not say, "Continuing the potion?"

With that, the tension disappeared from between them, as both of them let their guard down. The tenseness from their muscles and their heaving breathing softened and they suddenly realized how close they really were, from hips to pectorals, touching each other.

It was intimate, but not awkward. Even if they wanted to make it that, it wasn't, because at least, they could have managed to cope with awkwardness, but not with intimacy. It was strange to them – a new way of seeing things, a new perspective to see their relationship from.

He scurried away a little, but immediately pulling her with him, afraid to lose contact. Almost imperceptibly, his arms snaked around her, holding her in his embrace. Like she was a column with strong, stubborn ivy twined firmly around her, intending to release her never-ever.

"I wouldn't give up on it," he muttered.

Hermione nodded and loosened in his hug, burrowing her head in his delicious, dark chocolate scent. At least there was no whiskey in it, by now, a clear sign of his change. She didn't dare believe it was all for her.

"Have you figured out anything?" he asked quietly, cautious not to bother their fragile peace.

"Just a few uninteresting facts," she whispered against his exclusive robes, her eyes drooping in the safe shelter he provided, "Unicorns eat poisonous plants, are attracted to royalties and have a ridiculously good sense about people and their intentions. They would know if we try to lure them out for their blood, Malfoy."

"Maybe Estrella can help us," he offered, resting his chin on the top of her unruly curls. He didn't know when they got this comfortable in the other's presence, but it was calming to know there was someone out there to lean on. "And resort back to Draco."

"Maybe," was all she said.

* * *

 _Okay, I'm really curious what you think! It's solved, t's fixed, it's mysterious and they're idiots. And personally, I fell in love with this chapter. Or is it just me? ;D_


	26. Liar

"Hey!"

"The fact that I don't purposefully avoid you now, doesn't mean I'm still not royally pissed at you, Draco Malfoy," she stated and slumped down beside him on the sofa, both of them are painfully aware of their touching tights. But they didn't move away from the contact.

Draco grimaced, "But the fact that you're pissed doesn't mean you can abuse me as freely as you wish, wench," he countered and Hermione pushed at him a little, with her elbow jabbing in between his ribs that made him back away. Only by an inch – not that his proximity engrossed the eternity of her thoughts... no, definitely not.

"Don't be a baby about it. I just gave you a little smack."

"I've got triple-slapped already, I didn't need one more, thank you!" he scowled, snuffled like a toddler. He'd make a formidable duo with Teddy – Hermione thought with a gentle smile on her lips.

"Your ego didn't seem to get enough of them to transform back to mere humility," she pretended to study her nails, amused as his nose turned upward and sneered at her – without malice, but so full of himself that she was tempted to jab him yet again. "Besides, there are still issues in need of speaking," she ushered with fake superiority in her voice, mimicking the pompous arseholes of his house.

Now that piqued his interest as it seemed, even forgetting about his acting as he leaned in closer, as if they were about to discuss the darkest secrets ever known to humanity. "Tell me how you'd fixed it," he whispered.

She narrowed her eyes at him, pretending not to understand for the simple purpose of making him snap. She had enough of misery for herself in the last two weeks, of course she needed compensation!

"Don't try to sell you're an imbecile, because believe me, the entire wizarding world would laugh themselves sick when seeing this," he drawled in her ear with an eyebrow tauntingly pulled up. "Talk, Granger," he nudged.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, "If you say please, I'll consider sharing my secret."

He clicked with his tongue in dismay, "You're insufferable"

"I learnt from the best," she grinned at him victoriously.

She continued grinning even though a familiar red pillow slammed in her face. Draco was petty – she knew that, and didn't expect much more from him. That simple thought just made her triumph a lot more sweeter.

"Talk," he grumbled, "Please," he sucked in the air like the word itself would have been able to burn off his tongue.

She sighed, knowing she wouldn't be able to get away until his curiosity was satisfied. And with knowing it would cause him physical pain to say more... she really didn't have another choice. "I, at first, thought it was blood magic."

"But obviously it wasn't," he shot back, still as explosive as a bloody volcano.

"No, it wasn't," she agreed, trying to calm him with her soothing tone. Subconsciously, she looked down at her bandaged on her left forearm as it rested in her lap. The letters on her skin buzzed like insects were able to invade underneath it, fluttering against her the injuries with their tiny wings. She shuddered at the thought, "It was hatred. Layered on the object."

Looking back up at him, she had the sudden urge to smile. He was blinking down at her owlishly, the greyness of his eyes so magnificent that for a moment she believed it was made of pure, melted silver.

"Layered," he concluded intelligently, "Hatred layered on the flask."

And then, he needed to bite in his lower lip not to laugh at the impossibility of the statement. He hardly realized how that attracted her eyes, in need of tearing it away from his spectacular irises.

"Yes, layered," she repeated herself, even though she hated to do so. Her irritation with his doubts easily spotted. "It's not that easy to break, you know. It took efforts even figuring out the cause, not to mention the counter spell! Lily Potter used the same method for saving Harry – just with _love_ ," at the snuffled laugh he let out, she turned at him, her eyes trained on him. "I didn't sleep for _two_ days, Draco," she snapped.

He shook his head, seemingly unable to believe her, his tone light and melodious as he asked, "And what that infamous spell may be?"

She smiled a wired smile, "The most frequent told to muggle children." He didn't seem to understand, " _Avada Kedavra_."

His complexion paled considerably and he gulped, cautious as if with just saying the spell could cause massacre. He let out a shaky breath, the wheels in his minds turning, "Avada Kedavra," he muttered after her, like the words would be mere poison. His hands trembled as his eyes narrowed to slits. "You mean to tell me... muggle use that phrase commonly?" Now the rage was easy to read from his body language as he tried not to let his control slip, exhaling slowly, counting the seconds, "So they don't have any idea how many of us, of them fell because of this ill spell, and they tell it to muggle _children_? What is it if not _fucked_?"

Hermione let her tongue roam against her lips before answering, careful not to make him lose it, fearing his quick-temper. She expected a lot of things from him, but definitely not this.

"I suspect they had heard it during the Middle Ages when the border between magic and their reality was not that... thick. So it must have just... became a flitting legend, the spell the fairy godmother used and what the gin said to Aladdin..." she told him her theory, slowly and deliberately, making sure she had all his attention. She was afraid if she said something not right, it could make him snap – even though he hadn't an idea who was Aladdin or the godmother.

"The first time I tried to use my wand, I said it. Or a different version of the spell that I heard from my mother... It was _Abraca Dabra_. I was actually really sad when all I managed was green mist. Until I found out what Avada Kedavra really was, I thought of it as a failure. And now I'm glad I didn't continue on trying.

Draco looked away from her, their silence only bothered by the Vindico Parea boiling in the cauldrons.

"This is just sick," he stated finally.

Hermione nodded, embarrassed by the silence. It felt strange, like it was able to tear down her eardrums. Between them it was simply abnormal – she had never felt this helpless in his presence, not when they were working on the potion, speaking or just sitting next to each other.

And that's why she decided on carrying on with the discussion.

"So, after realizing it, I needed to cast the killing curse," she continued, "I may have killed one of your forefather's soul. Or rather, a part of that remained connected to the flask. I'm sorry for that."

He shrugged, unable to look at her. He was nibbling on his lip, dabbing with his fingers, deep in thought, tense and was pushing himself against the antique sofa's armrest in the most inconvenient way and so hard, as if he wanted to escape from her presence. His pale blonde hair fell in front of his eyes, but even that didn't bother his concentration as he continued on marvelling at the tiles.

"Draco," she pleaded, not knowing how to handle his crestfallen mood. He was a lot more complicated and sensitive than he liked to show to other people – and after the war, his soft side buried a lot deeper under the indifferent mask and the sneering and venomous comments. But now, this seemed to break and throughout the cracks, leaked through his concern and fear for others. And Hermione liked that side of him, assuring her he was worthy of her worries and thoughts.

She reached out for him, gently putting her hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles on it, trying to ease him from the rigid posture.

He flinched away.

"What was that?" she asked, perked up because it was just simply a ridiculous thought that her touch caused that reaction. By now they were too comfortable for this old game. Flinching away in disgust? Hermione hardly was able to hold back a snort at the passing thought.

He froze, his knuckles squeezing on the armrest of the sofa to whitening.

"Nothing."

She tilted her head to the side, looking at him with the expression that screamed her disbelief. "You just don't go and become a statue because of _nothing_."

He rolled his eyes and turned to her and with that movement her hand slipping downwards and met with the soft material of the furniture. He was careful, not allowing her to reach his back. It just made her more suspicious about the real reason.

"It was nothing, Granger."

Sighing much like a mother, having enough of her children's idiocy, she lashed out.

"What are you doing, Granger?" he asked, the weird mix of surprise, fear and embarrassment evident in his voice.

Not that it had bothered Hermione. She continued on undoing his buttons on the front of his shirt, not deterred by his struggling as he tried to stop her and pin her by her wrists.

"Are about to rape me?" he asked, the words feeling strange on his tongue. He was not really afraid, no, but the suddenness of the situation shook his world and morals from the roots. Unexpected became the best word to sum up her actions.

Hermione, not in mood to be played, shook her head with her brown locks slamming in Draco's face, and with a swift motion she got hold of his shirt, and tearing it open, revealing his bare chest.

Neverminding the vast contours of his abdomen, displaying the infamous six-packs that she'd last seen in muggle magazines, or the outlines of his biceps that she knew of so _well_ , she grabbed his shoulders – yes, they were packed with lean muscles and _so_ broad – and turned him with the element of abruptness so that his stomach crashed with the armrest. He yelped pitifully, immediately trying to stand up and cover himself, but with Hermione straddling on the top of his butt, it was harder than expected.

"Rest for a minute," she suggested and held him down as he was struggling for breath.

Running her fingers up on his skin that was near to whiteness of the snow, she looked carefully, studying every centimetre of his skin. Her fingers ran around like crazed spiders on their web, seeking a bump, a change on his seemingly perfect skin.

It didn't take long to find it.

It was just a shade whiter that his skin tone, a scar that was hardly noticeable, only for those who looked throughoutly. With her index finger, she traced the line of it, while Draco sighed against the armrest, grumbling under his nose as he was hardly able to suppress a shiver. He knew that his secret was out now, so gave up.

However, he seemed to accept it the _game over_ with troubling ease. As if he had expected that already.

Written there with the most elegant handwriting she had ever seen – the handwriting she had formerly problems reading – was the simple word of _liar_.

Her mouth opened up with realization as she scooted away, letting the deputy Head Boy gather himself as he crumpled his white shirt to a big ball, now not even interested in getting dressed. What point was in that anymore?

She had seen two of his most feared evidence of the war – the Dark Mark and his scar.

Knowing she knew was like acid had settled in his guts, his abdomen lurched with queasiness. It was so inconvenient, so devastating, and so not _right_. He never wanted her to ever be aware of this scar. Hell, if he would have been careful no one beside his family would ever questioned it, it was so imperceptible...

It was tough enough to see his mother's look, always so grey, so sorry and praying for his forgiveness. He didn't need one more woman to glance at him with the very same sadness settled in magnificent irises. He just _couldn't_ and _wouldn't_.

But looking at her, he knew she realized the crucial part of the scar.

"It is your mother's handwriting, isn't it?" she muttered.

Draco didn't answer.

"You know... I understand," she tried again, her hand reaching for his pale shoulder to give him a reassuring squeeze. "I.. I really do, Draco!"

He shook his head, "You really don't."

And just before their skin could have touched, she pulled her hand back.

It fell back limp in her lap.

* * *

 _I'm sorry I wanted to put it up yesterday, but there was a storm and there went the electricity too..._

 _Also, guys! You are amazing with all those reviews! Made my days sweeter for sure! ;D I would like to thank you for all those speculations and little ideas you mention. They give me new ideas and the next I know I have another plot point that just begging to be in the story and abracadabra plus hocus pocus I have a new chapter. (I wish this would be literally that easy.)_

 _Take care!_


	27. For the dittany

The humid air messed up his straight, white hair as he had been looking through the queues for hours by now. He let out an exasperated sigh, desperate to find the damned dittany. It was right out ridiculous, a petty crime to break in this place.

The greenhouses were eerie at nights – he realized after the first ten minutes he had been in, the plants moved away from his route, but some of them still wanted to grab him and digest his entire body, so he needed to be extra careful.

With gripping Hermione's wand tighter, he looked around, the _lumos_ on the top of the stick painted blue shadows on the plants and flowers and he shivered at the sight.

He didn't want to waste his entire Saturday night in this damn place, but fuck, they needed the dittany. They couldn't steal it from Slughorn's office as the old fart hadn't even got a gram by the weekend.

So they resorted back to breaking in the Greenhouses. If they got away with invading in McGonagall's office, this should have been a piece of cake!

The problem was – it truly _wasn't_. As if the damn plants knew what he was looking for so they covered a dittany and made him go in circles – with them going wild at night time, they made a labyrinth of the narrow aisle and he needed to turn from one side to the other. And he could swear the route he had been through had been changed, because it was the third time he had encountered the Humming Hibiscuses, whispering eerie melodies in his ears.

He wasn't sure if he knew the way back to the entrance, with all the greenness climbing up against the glass walls. And all Draco saw were the horrendously big leaves of Pickering Palms and the full moon from under those, occasionally hearing the howls of the werewolves.

Eh, he still hated those creatures.

He needed to be quick – Hermione was keeping a guard outside from under the Invisibility Cloak, but without a wand. Or more like, with a useless wand. His was still checked at least weekly – and it would do no good to have the authorities see a fired _stupefy_ in the middle of a night when he was only allowed to use magic during classes.

"I knew something was up!"

Draco needed to force himself not to flinch. The voice was too familiar to him to start panicking, so he just turned to the source of it. He had the urge to roll his eyes at the sight. _Longbottom_.

"I knew something was not right when I asked Lavender where she was. Let's say, she suspected she was in your bed. Yet again," he spat with so much venom that Draco marvelled how the saliva didn't rot out his tongue.

For a moment there was a pregnant silence, during while Draco contemplated his chances. How big of slap would he receive if he said: ' _That 'posed to be tomorrow's programme_.' Because it would have caused him _so_ much delight!

"Hermione's outside," he answered instead, maddeningly flippantly and turned his back to the meddlesome Gryffindor. He pretended not being affected by the murderous intent that radiated off of him in ripples. Though he trusted him not to be as quick-tempered as a certain ginger tumour and not pounce on him with the idea of remodelling his – perfect – jaw-bone structure.

With a careless shrug, he continued on his route, kicking in a twisting root that was in his way. The plant scooted away as if snuffed, and Draco didn't know anymore if the accusing stare was from the over-intelligent moss or from the under-educated twat behind his back.

Now, the dittany should be at this row, he speculated, so he stepped forward, examining every herb carefully, still not quite sure which wanted to eat him. He narrowed his eyes at a suspicious one which was about to twist around his ankle, but one reprimanding glare was enough to stop it.

Uhu they knew with whom not to mess.

"You're an idiot if you think I let you walk away, Malfoy!" Neville snarled at him, suddenly his hand squeezing on his shoulder in a warning manner. With a scowl firmly set in place, Draco shrugged it away and continued his marching, not even wasting him a glare of utter contempt.

Maybe the dittany will be in the next row.

Neville tried again to grab him, but with a simple move, Draco avoided his touch. "You should really let me to my business," he said back, pointedly looking up at the full moon just as a blood-stilling howl cut through the darkness. "Hermione's outside, very well without a wand and the wolves are getting closer."

The next he knew, his head collided with the glass wall. He heard the familiar creaks as it shattered, but didn't break out of the iron frames.

Draco looked around, his eyes unfocused, but managing to settle on Neville's blurry face as he hovered above him with an angry expression, his clutch holding him in place. Draco found himself unable to fight back, his vision was swimming and swinging and he felt something warm roll down and drop on his collar form his scalp after rolling down on his hair.

He knew it was blood, but was adamant on denying it – it was a way to calm himself that he had learned during the war. When tricking himself into believing blood was just vermillion coloured sweat... yes, disgusting, but it became easier to go on rather than thinking and reliving every moment of a raid – it was more than enough to see them again in his dreams.

"You should rot in Azkaban, Malfoy!" Neville drawled with so much force that Draco needed to think back at the meek, fat little guy who he was free to abuse as he wished, without resistance. It was disturbing. "I don't know why she wastes even a minute of her life on you, but you should keep your distance from Hermione and be glad for her willingness."

That was _quite_ enough.

Letting her wand hit the floor, he fisted his hands into balls, going back to the barbaric method – now a spell wouldn't be enough to express his rage. How dared he?

And with these thoughts on replay in his head, precisely when Neville was about to pull back, happy to have his task fulfilled, Draco didn't hesitate a second.

He punched him square on the face.

"Maybe I'm not good enough for you, but she has never complained about anything," he snarled. "You know... the performance is too good to ever be outdone," he let a cocky smirk grow on his face for better emphasis. "I'm who she couldn't find among your lot. I help her, care for her and give her what she _really_ needs," which was the cure that was brewing in Myrtle's bathroom, though Neville didn't need to know that.

His words, undoubtedly, were true – sounded the way that was sure to rile the twat up, yes, but not lies. Just bending the meaning so he'd draw a different conclusion from them, that had no inkling to the reality.

Sadly.

"You bastard!" he sputtered at his face, yet again ready to get Draco pummelled.

He repeated his punch, but Neville managed to grab his wrist before the third could hurt him. He already had a black-eye, but that didn't stop him from twisting his entire arm against his back, halting only before his shoulder would pop out of its place.

Malfoy needed to bite down on his lower lip not to whine. He was already on his knees and it was enough of a humiliation. At least there were just the plants to be their audience – though they too seemed to cheer for the herbiologist, clapping their leaves together in mirth.

 _Fuckers_.

Neville bent down to whisper it in his ear, which would have been menacing if it wasn't the Death Eaters method, so he was familiar with that treatment. This situation – knowing Neville couldn't do a thing that would cause him bigger harm than what Pomfrey could fix – it just flat our bored him.

"She may love you, Malfoy," he growled like even the idea was offending, "But she's too stupid to see the real you right now," he could particularly hear the smirk in his voice as he continued. "However, I rather prefer to see you from another perspective... this is a good one, Malfoy, you look so humanly, so weak—"

His ashen eyes widened by the realization.

"It was you," he cut him off, trembling from the suppressed rage as he willed himself to think rationally. It would do no good if the red fog sheathed all his brain cells. "You were the one who called the aurors."

It was never a question, and even without the nod of confirmation that came from Neville, he knew he was right. So Draco did what he was best of – contemplated, planned and decided on revenge for the time the little wanker the least expected.

The Malfoy heir gritted his teeth and moved his fingers on the hand that was still in his captive and pulling on Neville's limb he signed him to let him go.

"I'm not an idiot Malfoy. You'll fight—"

To that, the blonde snorted, expressing how he thought of the opposite, "I'm not gonna throttle you. I'm not a bloody Gryffindor," he growled out and shifted yet again. Even if it wasn't enough to really cause him any harm, it did hurt! "I need your assistance, Longbottom. Hermione needs dittany." It might as well hurt his pride as he said those words, but he hadn't the time for fooling around with idiots.

Neville arched a challenging brow at him before letting his clutch soften, "Hermione or your project?"

Draco rolled his shoulder around to test it, still on his knees, flicking away a particularly brazen devil's snare ivy, "Me, for the project, which is for Hermione," he said after a bit of contemplating. He didn't miss the warning glint pop up in the other man's eyes. He sighed, "Show me where the dittany is, that's all I ask."

"I should have given you concussion, you know," Neville murmured as he lead the both of them to the corner of the greenhouse, pointing at the lowest shelf. His tense posture suggested he was still on alert if Draco dared to start punching his face in. "Hermione doesn't tell us a thing about your business. It's maddening."

The blonde, with shushing away a plant that was in the middle of pulling out a good chunk from his hair, grabbed a pot of the awaited dittany, "What do you wish me to say? That I fucked up with letting Bellatrix have her way? That Greyback nearly got his paws on her if not for my mother who forbid him to touch anything in her house, people included?" he counted on his free hand with a bitter tone. He seemed _genuine_ – Neville thought, but never dared to believe in it. "War caused so much more than simply suffering. I think, at some point, it'd be better off dead."

"You know, with my experience I can easily have a degree in killing snakes. One more is nothing, if you ask me," Draco frowned at that, knowing full well that there was no humour in here.

He shook his head, "That would not be required tonight. 'Though I should go back. She's waiting, and probably worrying her lips to swollen while we're conversing. I don't want it to bleed," he let on a shark-like grin that Pansy always wore. It looked horrendous on his face.

Neville grimaced at his words, "You should really shut the fuck up," he suggested, forlorn and disgusted. He never wanted to think about Hermione as someone who was sexually active and shagging the sneakiest snake of the entire universe. It was just... paradox, with her sweet but vindictive personality to the rotten egg she shared her bed with.

"As you wish," and with that, Draco disappeared in the night with a careless wave of his hand.

From the greenhouse, Neville could hear her tinkling laugh and he needed to lean on a Pickering Palm. It made him that queasy, and seeing the palm hunching with him, he felt conceived.

At least the herbs understood.

* * *

 _Respect the plants. Don't be jackasses like Draco._


	28. Solana

_Ready for my unicorn? ;D_

* * *

Walking alongside Draco was not the most subtle and unnoticeable thing that she had done. Counting that she kind of broke into a bank and was a famous war heroine, yes, all those happened and drawn attention, but she felt like she had more eyes on her at the moment than when the war was officially over and they were loitering in the Great Hall.

The judging, thunderous and jealous stares that protruded in her back with their intensity made it hard to concentrate on the road straight ahead and don't answer the people behind them with an equally vicious curse. It was maddening that she couldn't do a thing against it.

Her grip on the bucket tightened.

Oh yes, marching through Hogwarts grounds with a ton of carrots, sugar cubes and apples, was not one of the most subtle thing she had ever done, either.

She rolled her eyes – they must have looked ridiculous.

Draco decided that he was up to round two with the unicorns and now, they were prepared enough – thus, the succeeding was destined. He barged into the Gryffindor common room at six – yes, it was _Saturday_ –, with all his equipment in hand and freshly delivered by the Malfoy owls. Narcissa decided that she would help them out with everything she could, and wrote a twenty-three-page long letter about unicorns, their supper and the effect of those on their bodies – the same with common horses, but she was grateful for all the information! – their methods of communication and general behaviour.

 _Also, if they were pissed, they are bitching_ – was the exact sentence Narcissa wrote.

Hermione didn't question it. Not for the passing moment. Nor did Draco.

Eyeing her companion from the side, she tutted awkwardly. He was ignorant to the world, not caring about the fifty-ish pair of eyes following every of their movement as they strolled forward. The tenseness in his shoulders was probably the only sign that said otherwise.

Hermione couldn't resist her habit – she nibbled on her lower lip as she yet again squeezed on the bucket, irritated at the ticklish feeling climbing in her pores. Her muscles were aching the entire time they got to the grounds from the tower, but now, she couldn't change hands. She couldn't even fist her left hand. It was numb and nearly unfeeling because of the Essence of Spurius.

They needed the unicorn blood. Fast.

But she didn't dare mention that Draco – he would figure it out eventually. And dropping that bomb in the middle of playful and light bickering would be simply distasteful. They didn't talk about the demons they encountered in their dreams, the nights when she saw Bellatrix looming over her with her beloved knife glinting in the light or when he suffered from his nightmares (which he dreamt with his eyes open) – not even about his Mark since he got back the fixed flask, and definitely not about the numerous scars pebbling her skin or the Mudblood scar for that matter.

They just mentioned the potion as if that would be a mere school project and they were partners just because Slughorn decided to play house-uniting.

She grimaced – the moment, this might have not been that far from reality. They were comfortable enough in each other's presence, she, one time, even used him as a breathing pillow while he was reading some silly novel, but darker topics that suggested something was evidently _not right_ with or in their lives were like... prohibited.

The silence was calming, but she felt, _knew_ a storm was brewing.

Since she had seen the scar on his back, Draco shut her out. Even if unintentionally – but she _really_ doubted that option –, he was careful, avoiding giving her the answers whenever she played a ploy to get them. He was not a Slytherin for nothing.

It worried her.

Maybe that was why she sought out Theo, Blaise and Pansy.

At first, they looked at her like she had gone mad; _it was impossible for Narcissa to do such thing_ – Pansy answered rigidly, obviously concerned and surprised as she hadn't probably heard of that while Blaise and Theo laughed themselves to near fatigue, clutching on the other's clothes not to fall over. It was _that_ kind of impossible.

The air whistled when she sucked it through her teeth.

"Depressing yourself much?" asked the plain voice from near her and she nearly jumped. Even though her thoughts rotated around Draco, she forgot he was even there, strolling by her side so certain and confident, as if the he was without problems.

"Nah," she sighed and licked her lips from side to side; it was annoying how they got dry even if the wind blew with minimal efficiency and she was outside for like ten minutes.

However, she couldn't help noticing how his eyes followed her tongue and after that, as he dampened his own, pale pink and slit-narrow lips.

"Was just thinking," she replied tightly in the end, just to supply him with something. Their rigid and uptight silence was also annoying.

"Who thought?" he mocked with sarcasm, but not with the biting and the bitter edge – the easy and comfortable one, with no malice involved. It caused her pulse to jerk, hearing his deep, rumbling voice. It was _nice_.

Suddenly breaking off, she realized they were now in the Forbidden Forest, definitely not deep enough for any harm that could cross their path, but deep enough to get to their ulterior goal: unicorn blood, or at first, got to hunting.

Dropping the heavy bucket on the soil, very ungracefully, she turned to him, "So what? We just start shouting Estrella to the woods? Or do you have any other ideas?"

Draco nodded, putting down his burdens with more care, organising its position, lest the perfectly clear water or the herbs topple over the bucket's edge, "Nah, no other."

He put a blanket on the floor that he had nicked from the Gryffindor tower and invited her over that. It was good to show grace to the unicorns – according to Narcissa – if they thought you are vulnerable and little, they would come closer. But still – they needed to trust those who lure them out of their hiding places.

She draped one unused corner of the vast blanket on her legs before starting calling for the magical creatures. They took turns and waited one minute between the shouts, looking around in alarm for any sign of the foals.

The minutes ticked by and eventually turned hours of hollow nothingness, Draco's dabbing with his fingers softened and he lost rhythm, the silence burning their eardrums and the desperation started showing in their calls – her voice went rusty by the third hour and her blonde companion started panicking, got irritated and started mumbling under his breath during the minute-long breaks, cursing all kinds of magical creatures in a wide scale of profanity with all his might.

If the disappointment weren't enough, the cold topped over the things they needed to endure, with their breathing starting to show in the November air, the quiet clicking as their teeth met, or that they couldn't even feel their fingers by now – at least Hermione now felt balanced out. Both her hands were useless.

Little by little, they scooted closer to each other, imperceptibly, at fist just their thighs rubbing against each other, desperate for warming friction, than their midriff and hands tangled together and soon, Hermione was very nearly sitting in Draco's lap with obvious embarrassment but definitely not with discomfort.

"Are they even coming?" she exhaled through gritted teeth, looking up in his face. She just now realized how he fitted to the weather, bone-crackingly cold and pale in colours, but even he seemed to start giving up. On second thought, he looked like a Greek statue made of marble, pure and stoic, with aristocratic features.

Draco nodded to her and called out once more, strained and quavering, as if even his vocal chords started freezing, too.

No answer came, no legs drumming against the muddy earth, no gleeful nickering from the unicorns, no sign of them being even real. She started doubting all those books she went through, Narcissa's words, and the opportunity to survive her poisoning.

"Draco, I think—," just as that, her hazel eyes comically widened and her jaw went ajar, her dried lips enticing and just a second and Draco would have gone for it and abandoned all his protests, if not for her trembling right hand lifting up and pointing at something behind him. "Look at that," she whispered as if it was a secret, not to be heard by others.

But before he could have looked, he felt something sticky and disgusting twist around a good chunk of his beloved hair and tugged, hard. He yelped, nearly dropping Hermione in panic as he twisted in his seat, facing the fatal threat.

His degrading words died on his lips as he looked up at the unicorn, munching on his locks. _It was something_ – he decided, and didn't throw a tantrum after a bit of complementing, but rather, tried to hush away the young unicorn with little success.

"Damn it," he grumbled and leaned away.

The dumb horse nickered in disappointment combined with irritation at the loss of his chewtoy, effectively spitting Draco in the face with that.

Hermione giggled from near him as he scowled, rubbing the disgusting saliva in the blanket, with a dark stare, accusing her of betrayal, "I don't understand. They should relish the virgins and women, not tainted and men," he grumbled and yet again, the unicorn was in his face, looking at him with interest, seemingly invading his soul with those enormous, baby blue eyes.

However, the _fucking_ horrifying horn had nearly pricked out Draco's left eye, but seemingly nobody cared about that.

Hermione scooted closer, reaching good arm out in fascination as the single foal started sniffing it. With a slight jerk, she turned her head and all her attention was back on the lying form of the grumbling Malfoy heir.

Even from one glance, he knew she was disappointed, "Pity it didn't think you hair would be a sufficient enough for breakfast. Now I need to wash it, _again_. Or at least didn't think you the better—"

Hermione shot him a brooding, unhappy look, "Because all those carrots got her attention," she growled, spouted with sarcasm.

"Hey, you couldn't help on the stupid thing," he called out playfully, and just like that, the unicorn stepped forward.

Straight onto Draco's torso.

Amusement glinted in her eyes as she put more pressure on her leg, making Draco gag, curse and experience so much pain by that hateful golden hoof. His hand squeezed around the magnificent, snow-white leg, not even realizing that he was touching the animal. It didn't flinch away, letting him to try to remove her limb in a desperate and unsuccessful attempt.

"I think you pissed her off," Hermione supplied, still a little crestfallen by the unicorn's disapproval of her. Draco was an arsehole to her and she still let him close to her.

Hermione tutted. The horse must have had a knack for bad boys.

Draco struggled for breath, "Dontcha' say," he managed the buzzing irony even if his guts threatened to jumble together by the plus weight pressuring them. "Repel the degraded thing with your touch, woman!"

She rolled her eyes, not even being careful as she climbed over Draco's chest to hush away the magnificent creature that sure as hell wouldn't want to do a thing with her. It just added one more thing to the list why she hated this day.

The unicorn side-stepped, avoiding her itching fingers and nickering yet again, showing of the glimmering horn arrogantly, like it was rubbing it in her face, that she was the more powerful party between the two.

"She hates me," she sighed with a mirthless tone, but it also contained a wistful edge, whishing _if only she didn't_. Draco scowled at the horse general direction, irritated that he was overpowered that easily, measuring up the robust build of the creature and intensively rolling his eyes at her hopes.

And she still was a foal. Figured.

Granger was hugging her knees to her chest, nibbling on her lip and watching forward, compartmentalizing the strange case, the reaction of the creature. She made a list in her head, and in the end, it was clear that it should have hated Draco – not her! He was generally unpleasant that radiated from him in waves, definitely not a virgin, had a knack for the dark side of magic and he had the frigging Dark Mark embedded in his skin!

And still – the damned unicorn behaved, like Draco was everything to her, and she was... well, not for her standard.

"Should we try?" she asked absently, eyeing the creature warily as it sent a dubious look at their direction while fishing a carrot out of the bucket. As if she knew it was for her.

Draco shrugged, "I'm not sure. Solana doesn't like you and I'm not friendly enough with her. Yet," he drawled slowly and as if understanding the words, the unicorn's point ears twitched.

He hated the thought that he needed to come back – because otherwise, there would be no blood for the potion. It would just mean more wasting of the time they had little of. He pressed his lips to a thin line as he subtly glanced down on Hermione's left hand – she didn't use that in a while.

"How do you know her name?" Hermione asked before he could have asked how was her hand functioning, as Solana got the third or so carrots, nibbling on them with glee.

"She told me," he answered swiftly, his arms resting on his knees, looking in the gloomy woods that started darkening. It meant it was already afternoon. He put his questions away for later on – just something normal, for this few more weeks, he wished! "Mother was right. Unicorns are Legilimens. She showed me a picture of the sun and I just...," he trailed off, his eyes seeking for hers as if asking her to confirm he hadn't gone bonkers, before saying the words, "I just knew it."

Hermione nodded, carefully and meekly, "That's good. But...," she looked at the creature, warily, her teeth yet again on her lip, "where is the other one? Your mother said there were _foals_. In plural."

Unable to answer, he shook his head, and suddenly, they quieted down with the woods.

* * *

 _I wanted to put it up yesterday, but fever had a bigger say in things I was (not) doing. Hope you enjoyed Solana! ;D_


	29. Leaving it

Myrtle flitted above her head in a careless way, not even feeling the coolness in the castle that seemed to slash to the very deep of her bones. But still, the ghost seemed unaffected as they spoke. Private and still, quietly, suited perfectly for the awaiting winter, but not for the thunder currently roaring outside.

"So you have no idea?" Myrtle asked airily and did a dip just near the ceiling; a lightning bolt flashing just near her while the rain thudded against the robust walls of Hogwarts.

Hermione shook her head, irritated by the heavenly war outside, wishing that it would go away. "I just saw his scar. Draco never told me a thing about it."

The late Ravenclaw sniggered at that, "He never told me either," she said after a bit of silence, her voice bitter as if she would have expected him to do so, "but, I have my own ideas. I assumed long ago that we are thinking in the same way in some matter, and he mu—,"

Myrtle shut her mouth the moment she saw icy blonde in her periphery, and before she could have focused on that tiny flash, seeing if that was the subject of their discussion, a book came flying towards her and went through her translucent body.

She felt a sudden urge to cry or at least throw back the damned book to the source, but after more than fifty years, she knew it was impossible. She couldn't touch anything _earthy_ and this though now felt like a stab to the gut.

Not that she would have had any idea how a stab _felt_.

With a cry of irritation and blazing fury, the ghost fled place, slamming a cubicle with the speed of her departure that it nearly came off its hinges. In a second, she was nowhere to be found.

Hermione blinked once, twice, and then looked up from the sofa, rigidly turning to the remains of the door some idiot blasted off. She faced Draco's dark expression, contoured but not controlled, the fury rolling off of his body in ripples. The mist wreathing in the bathroom made it hard to see much more of him, but it was enough for Hermione to know he was pissed.

She turned her back to him, unfazed.

And just like that, something seemed to snap in the man behind her. He strode there, confident and his eyes exactly like the thunder above them, glaring straightforward. His breathing was labored, fists squeezed to whitening as he sat down beside Hermione.

He let out a heavy breathe.

Hermione put the book next to her that she was fiddling with formerly, and turned to the deputy Head Boy who looked like an enraged bull, ready to throttle anyone.

"What's it?" she whispered lightly, her melted chocolate eyes never leaving his angular face, the sudden line of his jaw, his straight nose and the sneer she hadn't seen in a while. Not that she had missed it.

An unintelligible murmur was his answer and she leaned in closer in the hope of catching the syllables, "—a _horse_ and Solana kicked me in the _groin_. And can you—!"

She needed to bite in the inside of her cheek not to let a roaring laughter escape her lips. Draco went to the unicorn daily, often speaking and offering it his company for hours, even thought he hadn't an idea how to deal with common horse without it wanting to cause him any harm, not to mention a unicorn – which required special approach. He never said why he kept going to the _rude horned horse_ – his words –, because for her, it was painfully clear that they wouldn't get an ounce of blood from the obstinate creature.

Crying through last weekend because of that, even though she convinced herself she wouldn't, but the realization dawned on her in the middle of night and she just understood why people sometimes didn't think their situation through on purpose. It was cruel and weighty, a plus, unwanted rock on her heart.

Hermione needed to come to turns with her impending death that night and the next day, she was really grateful for the muggle make-up products, because to some extent, they outlast glamour charms.

Letting a shaky breathe out, trying not to think back of her hysterics, she spoke up, desperate to change the topic, "I asked Pansy about the scar. The _liar_ scar," she confessed.

And just that – everything seemed to go awry.

Silence. Oh, the silence! Eerie, ominous silence.

It made her shudder!

The war heroine leaned in closer, desperate to catch any movement, a little shift in his gaze, on his body, a fore-telling sign of his awaiting reaction. But the silence continued and it was pregnant and so weighty that her shoulders slumped under the burden.

Though Draco's never did. He sat perched on the sofa, looking forward and not moving. Like a statue – a Greek statue, as she'd envisioned him not long ago, defiant and dedicated to his truth. Warrior-like, and ready to turn the word around its axis, but waiting for that little thing, _the_ little thing, that could throw him off balance.

 _Balance_ – Hermione realized. She was balancing on a tight-rope with this issue and she needed to gulp, because yes, she had no right to pry, but she was curios and worried, and wasn't about to let something go when it could drag with itself a distinct change.

Looking at his knuckles and seeing his blue veins through his pale skin, she just now understood the rage he felt through the force he was squeezing his hands in fists.

"You really shouldn't have."

She had the gall to feel ashamed, but it was not enough for his satisfaction. The grey eyes now not just resembled the thunder outside in colour, it was now the thunder itself, full of different shades and lightning and so many emotions that it scared her for a minute.

"You never tell me anything," she answered meekly, but in a firm voice, with no intention of angering him furthermore, but still! Knowing, there was a brick wall between them... A brick wall, so tall and so vast, that she needed to break through _now_. Now or never. And she wasn't about to give up!

Draco tutted, his lips literally white as he pressed them together. He particularly _hissed_ his reply, barely audible, "It may have a reason why I never tell you anything."

That comment. Unnecessary and untrue and it just made something blew over within her. Maybe it was common sense. Maybe it wasn't – just the barricade between common sense _and_ emotions.

"You just want to keep your distance!" Hermione snapped, the words tumbling out of her mouth with the ferocity that she might have just blown fire in his face, suddenly standing and looking down at the intimidating man who was on the verge of his patience. But that didn't stop Granger's ranting, "Because you're afraid," she shouted, "Draco, you're afraid! And you can't tell me I read you wrong," she rambled on, her gestures careless and big, her hair in every way of the compass rose. "I know more than I let on, and against believes, I actually care for the people around me! I pay attention and I _am_ there when it's needed! I'm not going... just abandon you, Draco!"

He snorted at that, because he was _just Death Eater, everyone abandoned him_. Heck, even the Dark Lord did!

So Hermione felt entitled to continue on.

"We're _partners_ ," she said, "We can be even _more_ ," she added, " _Friends_ ," she offered, "Maybe a _little_ more," she amended, now blushed prettily and a tiny bit embarrassed. A messy confession popped in the middle of a battlefield. _Great_.

But he didn't seem to understand – not when swelling with rage and bottled up emotions, not when he felt violated and betrayed. Because it was flat out betrayal in his vocabulary: doing things behind his back and without his consent. Asking _personal_ things from his allies, from the few who were left and she thought it was natural for him? Yes, he was a selfish prick – but he treasured what he was given. And _these allies_ , these he wasn't about to give up!

"It's called betrayal, Granger," was his answer, grey eyes unseeing and glassy. Venom latched in his tongue as he ran it across his lips, waiting for reply, eager to jab where it hurt one more, a thousand more times.

Hermione growled in frustration, tempted to slap him, just like back in third year. She was _that_ level of angry with him and his childish thinking – the former bully of Hogwarts outshining the picture of the man he had become. That man he changed into – the one, who was _worth fighting for_.

 _What the fuck have I done to you, Hermione?_

 _It's called betrayal, Draco._

"You don't get to use my words against me," she literally spat the words in his face, kneeling down in front of him and looking him straight in the eyes. Grey thunder met with muddy swamp, ready to conjure him and make the rage sink in itself from within his ribcage. "That's despicable."

"That's just me, _love_ ," he drawled with a smirk, flashing his pristine teeth back at her face.

 _And we don't have time for you playing around with lives, either._

 _And we don't have time..._

Damn!

She squeezed the thing under her palms out of anger, and nearly jumped when the thing twitched and she looked down, flabbergasted to find Draco's knees under those. Before that they weren't even aware of the contact, maybe blinded by fury, or just maybe, too comfortable with the other's close presence to notice.

Eyes wide and full of surprise, they leaned away. It was time for compromise – something to offer before they crash everything they'd already built together.

 _It was hard_ to be the one who stops a fight, "I'll never ask again... just tell me once, when you feel comfortable," Hermione offered shyly, accepting that her pride had been trampled down to the level zero.

 _It was hard_ not to continue the fight, but maybe _, it was harder_ to be the one to leave it and give up – but it might had been the cleverest choice of all. If they continued, the gap between them might have pulled them in from the edges they were standing, on the different sides, face to face, but bonded by their words of helping each other.

It was maybe the cleverest choice of all, but might not the best.

She wasn't the Brightest Witch of her Age for nothing, huh?

* * *

 _Uhuhu, somehow they just always end up arguing when I finish it. Must be their characters... ehehe, no. I just love writing these scenes and they just come to me, like you know hungry sea-bitches to drunk sailors. (Yeah, I should really try s-l-e-e-p-i-n-g some of these days.)_

 _Also, I started a new story - no worries, it's a summer lemonade when you'd like to smileon silly things. Also, there's a chance you find the contradictions too much and then, start laughing because of that. You know, you never know if you do not read *tentatively nudges you towards the first update.*_

 _So, Ladies and Gentlemen, let me introduce you my new creation: **Let's play dumb.** Dramione, of course. Travelling AU, three/four years after the war. Summary: They were kind-of together. And kind of full of contradictions. But still stuck together by the hip. And perfectly in denied love. So they escape from the world - going back to irresponsible juveniles that they really are under their carefully composed masks._

 _The prologue is already up and I really hope I won't be left without readers for that project either!_

 _As always, thank you for reading, and I'm really curious what you think!_


	30. Illusion

Three days.

Three days of being in the presence of the other's and so close and nearly intimate, working on the potion and standing right next to each other, but never touching. And still, they uttered no words. The greetings forgotten, the former bickering was none-existent as they were comfortably hiding in their cocoon, wounded, but careless and scarily alone.

But they were painfully aware of the other's close presence.

However, three days of silence done its deal, the gap getting bigger and bigger and Draco hated it. He had the opportunity to pick up on little things, yes, like her controlled movements and the way she always used her right hand. She didn't even lift the other one, and after a few hours, he realized: her fingers weren't able curl and uncurl, they were literally motionless. So with no other options, he watched her struggle with her left hand and did not help her...

Yes, his arrogance didn't let it now, his stubbornness on uproar, because of their fight. It slashed him bone-deep and he hated the feeling how he said no to her every offer. If he had realized at that moment...!

Shaking his head, well aware that his intense stare burned her neck as he left her shuffling around the potion, stirring the liquid counter-clockwise the third time in this hour. Even now, she didn't move it, never reached with that hand; it just fell limp beside her body, her skin eerily pale there, compared to her face.

He wouldn't need to be a genius to figure out that the paralysation kicked in with full force. And that was _not good_.

So _not good_ that it meant they only had weeks, perhaps some months at best.

Hammering his head for better ideas than sharing and finally stopping her from overworking herself, only to end up in pain and exhaust herself when it was clear she needed every ounce of her bottled up energy, he started speaking.

"It was after you got out of the Manor," he said, slowly and deliberately, watching her froze through mid-move, and even for a minute, he believe he saw her fingers twitch on her left hand.

He sighed; her body convulsed and the tenseness dissipated from her shoulders when hearing his voice. She continued with the stirring, but didn't say a thing. Her entire body radiated her arrogant message: _keep talking, I'm waiting_.

Draco bent down on the sofa, a ridiculously puffy pillow under his head as he looked up at the ceiling before continuing his story, " _Bellatrix_ ," he saw the muscles in her neck twitch from his periphery, "Bellatrix never told Voldemort what'd happened, but rather...," he stopped and now he was the one trembling as the pictures flashed in his eyes, her maniac laughing and his mother's painful glance as they both knew they needed to do this. _Don't do this, Cissy_ – he heard the cackle from the madwoman, wand unflinchingly pointed at them, – _don't do this and then you don't survive. Simple, isn't it?_ And she guffawed.

"She rather decided on punishing us. In our _own_ family home," he grunted out, his teeth nearly grinding against each other, fists firmly in balls. "Mother needed to do it, or she would have told Voldemort. It would have signed the deal. He would have asked for my father's head. Execution, by his own master, death of the fallen. The most plebeian of all methods for a Death Eater.

"Mother knew that," _of course she knew_ , Draco snorted under his breath, absently, _she was through a first war and had been on my father's side since she was fucking fifteen!_ He watched Hermione taking a big breathe, still focused on the Vindico Parea, but soaking up his words like the starving the sweet nectar. "So she did as it was required."

"Required?" echoed Hermione, faintly, having a general idea what had happened. She couldn't imagine the inner war his mother needed to fight with herself; it was either her son or her husband, both under a madman's command and mercy. Their lives were at stake.

So she whispered, even though she knew the answer to her question, "What was required from your mother, Draco?"

She could literally hear the bitter smile on his lips as the reply rolled off his tongue, "She was given a special quill. Again, it was an heirloom, with iron tip and a griffin's feather on the top." She looked down, bewildered when seeing her hand squeezing the spoon with such vigor that her fingers went numb. "And also, Bellatrix," she still couldn't help herself: needed to gulp down the bile rising up in her throat whenever hearing that name, "gifted her an inkpot. Full of the Essence of Spurius."

She knew it was coming, but she dropped the spoon in the cauldron. The clashing, sharp sound was all that filled out the bathroom, the white mist above them not able to suppress the sound of her whimper. That was what Hermione didn't want to hear: an evidence of his betrayal, knowledge that he had survived what she still yet endured and had cured himself. Something, that was unimaginable for her, without the damn horse's blood!

"And then?" she asked, the words spilling out of her mouths before she had known it. "She thought you were equal to a mudblood?"

"Eventually?" she knew he had pulled up a brow and she cracked an ironic smile, "I was not more than a slave, fallen, half-way down the road to be a traitor to our cause and by the end, not enough to be worthy of the title of Death Eater. The _show_ was for humiliation," he recalled the feeling of hateful glares marring his skin and literally felt their condemn covering him up, like a filthy new piece of cloth, unworthy and utterly graceless.

He shook his head, trying to get rid of the memory, the hell within his skull. "I was shirtless, standing in the middle of our ballroom and then my batshite crazy aunt started randomly cackling. Mother came closer to me and put her hands on my shoulders, murmuring prayers I didn't even know where she knew from," his voice lost its force, dry and weighted as it was clear he was on the edge of breaking down.

Maybe that was the cause why Hermione didn't dare turning toward him – Draco was someone in her life now who she thought to be too strong to have these episodes, even though she knew he was just as broken as her – broken by the war and the things he lost with it.

"It was painful; I imagine you're familiar with the feeling." She just felt as he was looking at her left hand, and even unconsciously, she pulled her right palm over the scar. "I felt the quill break my skin and knew that it was dipped in poison. Maybe, I just imagined it, but felt it rush through my circulation. My mother was crying quietly behind my back so Bella couldn't see her as she started carving the letters in my back... and— and she needed to start— start it three times over! At the bitch's command!"

She took a shaky breathe, and realized, she could not let him continue. He would slump and break if he continued, and he shouldn't let it happen! Shouldn't let it trample him to the ground! He just shouldn't! "Wh— why liar though?" she asked with repressed air and she forced the telltale lump back in her windpipe with a gulp, "I don't understand."

To that, a short laugh cut through of the lock of his teeth, sharp and bitter, and utterly mirthless. Like the voice of a desperate fellow, ship-wrecked, knowing the waves would be his ultimate grave but still laughing, because _yes_ , he had finally managed to fish a fucking _pilchard_.

"Because I didn't say a word, because I didn't say a _fucking_ word about your sweet triad, Granger," he basically spat the words in mid air as he continued, "I didn't tell them it was Potter, because fuck, I knew it was you all along, but it would have meant _end_. End to the war... to every damn thing! Like, what you said not long ago," he trailed off, absent and still, feeling a rotten taste on his tongue, "yes, yes! It was _game over_ , I believe!"

Hermione merely nodded, knowing full well he was watching her intently and throughout. It felt like he was able to see the contents of her skull.

"How did you... how did you stay sane? During the..."

"My father," he spared her from finishing the question, and to his answer, she visibly perched up and was just now struck, that _yes_ , Lucius Malfoy might have been a criminal and a racist, but was a _father_ in the long run, too. "He has quite a knack for Legilimency. He was both in my and my mother's head to help us keep our wits. Without him, both of us would have... given up, I think."

His breathing hardened at that and Hermione just wanted to walk back to him, to offer him her comfort, but was reminded how he hated to seem vulnerable and weak, and overall not like an average human. So she didn't let her own reins loose. Though she hadn't the force to gulp down her tears this time – they just kept gathering at the corner of her hazel eyes.

"I had too much of poison in my system," he continued, "My only opinion was Severus for survival, as luckily, he was in the end of his project, successfully brewing the cure. But it still needed the unicorn blood – and as we know now, that was my mother's doing."

"How much more did you...? How much time would you have had if not for... Snape?" she asked, her voice choking and now the big tears rolled down on her cheeks, openly. She could see her reflection in the mirrors, her eyes puffy, her lower lip trembling with the force she kept a pathetic whimper in, and her hair on flare with the emotions on uproar in her belly.

And then, the cruel answer just came.

"Granger, I was vomiting for two days. Straight."

It was sudden, expected but still sudden as the pitiful whimpers and sobs erupted from her lungs and she needed to put a hand against her mouth lest he heard. But she had a feeling he had known exactly what she tried to mask.

She felt firm hand circle her waist and a pull, heat surrounding her as she melted into Draco's embrace. Hermione let out a louder sob, now not even trying to hold back herself.

"I wouldn't have lasted for _a_ _week_."

It broke here, entirely.

He shushed in her ear, cradling and rocking her softly, his deep, rumbling voice letting lose an avalanche inside of Hermione's guts. Her crying intensified, but she didn't dare face him, didn't dare show him how ugly she was when in the middle of hysterics. Not when both of them were weak, shattered, vulnerable and so utterly broken and in need of each other.

She firmly clutched the illusion that at least, he was _perfectly fine_. And the wetness falling on her hair was nothing but rain from the outside.

Yes, rain. Because this way, she could happily melt in his arms, knowing he would hold her head above water. Trusting his strength with everything she had, trusting that he wouldn't let go, and that he was _perfectly fine_ , only giving her leverage. It was an illusion worthy to hold onto.

Worthy to be _wrapped_ into it.

* * *

 _Dedicated to Trinkisme. You know the deal guys: R &R! Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did because yes, Draco's confessed. Thoughts on that?_


	31. Fright

She hummed the melody of her childhood lullaby, dangling her legs off the sink while watching Draco doing his magic. The deep crease in his forehead, the way his mouth twitched to right to left and then back as he concentrated on adding the perfect amount of the Antarctic Ice Dragon's crushed scales to each of the cauldrons. The way his jack-knife glinted in the lights as he measured the white, shiny powder, his fingers curling around the metal lest he dropped too much in Vindico Parea; he looked strong and stoic, ever the Greek marble statue.

He was like a magnet, attracting every of her pores to his direction. And really, she would have been disturbed if it wasn't for the fact that she had already accepted her liking to the blonde.

Yes, let's call it liking. Any word with more heavy meaning behind would have overthrown the fragile balance, living undisturbed in her head.

Truthfully since their episode just five days ago, they were closer than ever. Draco let her cry her eyes out until they were puffy and as red as her Gryffindor tie, and even offered her a tissue – that had his initials sewn into it – when clearly, he was just as much in need of one as she was.

So she took it, and didn't return it. It had rich chocolate scent and something that was just Draco – fresh and spicy – and she cherished the rag as if it was made from silk, with diamonds adoring it and had been signed by at least a thousand muggle stars. She felt quite silly, but not that she had regretted her actions.

Now he didn't flinch away from her touch, though he always had a slight pinkness to his cheekbones whenever she let her hand linger on his shoulder slightly longer than necessary or when she – intentionally – brushed their fingers together. Or when she was – that time _unconsciously_ – leaning above him to hear Pansy babble about something, her breasts pressed against his back as he was sitting on a bench. He was painfully aware of the situation and was immediately as red as a tomato, and when noticing his discomfort realizing its cause, her complexion was the same in colour as his.

Pansy laughed of course. No one thought she would tone it down, no, she laughed so loudly that their entire class was soon aware of the dire interlude. Hermione would have loved to blend into the audience; it was a better option to be invisible for the eternity of her life than her awaiting death.

She sighed, and shifted lightly, the sink started to be quite uncomfortable for chair-substitute.

Just that moment, she looked up only to find her favourite blonde leaning towards her, his eyes narrowed and hard, studying her face like from two inches away.

"What?" she murmured, her embarrassment written all across her face.

But Draco didn't back away, his long, nearly translucent eyelashes dropped lower and lifting a hand, he pointed out, "Your tattoo," she quirked a brow, quite confused as there were numerous on her body, "The Serpent tattoo, it's different."

Hermione just shook her head, unable to believe that he had noticed the tiny change, "I researched with Luna. Turns out, she is a fan of tattoos and henna, and literally any kind of paints and inks, so we started—!" So he occasionally nodded along, well aware of Loony's weird fascination with body painting. To Hallowe'en in their third year she came in with one of her eyes painted harsh yellow and the other midnight blue, claiming she was the galaxy. She said her imaginary creatures suggested her this idea, but he remembered how he laughed himself sick that time with Blaise and Theo. Also, that was the time when she got her pet name of Loony.

He shook his head, banishing the memory far away.

"So we found and created some _fun_ spells," Hermione ended a speech which during most part, Draco was zoning out. Not like she hadn't noticed _that_.

"Fun?" he asked for confirmation, cautiously poking the place where the Serpent's head was, just under her expressive, boiling coffee eyes. The tattoo glimmered when it encountered with his magic, a weird lighting raid going through the ink and in a second, it was back to its original form, shining like tiny, crushed jewels were implanted in her skin as the light caressed the ink's surface.

It was actually quite... exceeding. And fascinating really, as he was standing there, rooted while mesmerized by the her beauty, and really, it wasn't just the tattoo, but her hazel eyes shining up at him mischievously, the tiny freckles speckled on her nose and her cheekbones, the plump lips that were so enticing since nearly the beginning, and even though he was not a big fan of the uncontrollable locks, it gave her a childish aura that was the telltale sign of how _fucking_ pure she actually was.

Maybe, that was the thing that allured Draco the most.

"Fun," she exhaled the words after a while, when their silence became really awkward, bordering on unbearable. He was in the middle of tucking an errant lock of melted chocolate behind her ear out of the numerous when their private bubble shattered around them.

Unconscious of his actions, Draco withdrew his hand. If they wouldn't kill each other, the embarrassment would take upon the opportunity for sure.

However, Hermione caught it, before he was able to succeed. She held his hand in her right, gently pulling it forward for a better look. Her slim fingers played with his as she slowly inched forward for the sleeve of his shirt. She started rolling it up, concentrating on her movement, as with only one available hand, it was not a simple task.

Just then did Draco realize which of his arms she was holding under custody. He frantically tried pulling it away, but an agitated look from Hermione was enough to stop him. Instead, his other hand reached out to help her with the procedure, slow and hesitant, the shame was latched in his weighty movements.

And Hermione grasped.

There it was, the scar he hated just as much as the one on his back: the Dark Mark glaring back up them with its full blackness, as if mocking them with its harsh presence. The contrast between the stigma and his pale complexion was slowly blurring, the skin around the tattoo bordering grey now. It seemed it started sinking in with his body, and it was no good sign, counting the terms of their agreement with Hermione.

Suddenly, he just wanted to punch something. Until it crumbled, broke, shattered. Destroying things was his shelter from reality, a way he could control the insanity taking place in his very own head.

But before he could have succeeded, Hermione squeezed on his wrist as if warning him. She asked with shaking lips, her voice making the words tremble in the air, "Why didn't you say something?"

He shook his head, "Granger, it can't be... removed at this point. It's...," he gulped down, feeling his Adam's apple bob.

She let out a breath so strained that it ricocheted in the silence of the bathroom, "Yes... the ink melting in with your cells, but Draco, I have some ideas, there must be solution," she stated with a firmer voice, her eyes full of hope and opportunities, "Tell me what you tried, in detail, and... and we'll sort this out. I swear!"

He was hardly able to hold back a really harsh bark of laughter, "Don't swear on things that you can't fulfil," he said and it was his turn to squeeze on her hand, passing around the hope between them as if it was just a plastic ball. "But alright... I'll first," he reached out for the jack knife, laying on the top of an empty cauldron just beside them, "Demonstrate," and he gripped it firmly.

Her eyes widened and her mouth snapped open for a mute scream as he struck in his own arm with sheer force, the undoubtedly sharp edge of the knife sinking in the tattoo, seemingly cutting through it, and for a moment, Hermione thought she would murder the idiot if he didn't manage to do so by himself. She saw the whole movement in slow motion, painfully aware of her helplessness.

Although she was utterly relieved when the blade sprang up with a swift movement. Like his skin was the plastic ball instead of their relished hope.

She knocked the knife out of his hand at that instant!

"Are you retarded?" she shouted with boiling rage, ready to throttle him at any moment as the Malfoy heir sent a brooding look at her, totally unfazed by her fit. "Draco, you could have killed yourself! I thought you are not suicidal!" she demanded the answers, even with stomping her leg just for better emphasis.

Draco rolled his eyes, flashing his uninjured forearm to her face, "Look, no harm done," he stated flatly, and even endured her check up.

She gestured wildly with her wand, muttering spells to make sure, she dabbed around the Dark Mark muttering obscenities and odes of his dumbness, nibbling on her lip whenever she had a breath of relief, while seeking for any evidence of the blade ever breaking the Dark Mark's surface form an inch distance. Her hot tears fell on his skin which made him shiver, but pretended he didn't notice.

"Come on Granger, you know just as well as I that you can't destroy this shit. Something like this couldn't harm it, Hermione," he said slowly with a small voice, private, as if afraid that anyone could overhear them. But his persuasion seemed ineffective, her common sense flew far away.

His lips were really close to her face and after a bit of silence, he breathed a kiss against the top of her forehead, intending to calm her down.

It did not help Hermione.

It was all about held back anger. Her limbs trembled and her cheeks were flushed and the tears in the corner of her eyes were ready to spill and she wanted to scream her throat dry and hoarse because of his idiocy.

"Just breathe, Granger, in and out, in and out...," he chanted, desperate and not knowing how to handle a panicking woman. Or a woman on the verge of utter hysterics he had caused.

It took three minutes when she was finally able to form words.

"Stop it Draco, I'm not in labour!" she barked and pushed him a step away just to get to more oxygen, "Warn me before you cut up your _fucking_ veins, Draco, or I'll... I'll," she forced it out of her system, in the end kicking in her on bag to get rid of her frustration, never minding the twenty-three books in there. It was still more resourceful than threatening him.

She let a shaky sigh escape her lips, and leaned back to the sink, "Okay," she said, "Okay... Your demonstration was efficient for sure. What else's there?" she asked, now fearing his answer a lot more.

Draco, glad to be back at the topic, shrugged, "Spells... normal and then, well, some darks too," he confessed while studying her expression, the way her facial muscles tightened and her jaw twitched. The tears were still present in her eyes, giving them a glassy shine and her lips were now swollen from the lot of nibbling she did out of nervousness. The entire, messy picture was enticing and _fuck_ , was she _beautiful_!

He shook his head, hoping that the blood, which started flowing downwards, would deter its route and come back to his brains, "There was the muggle tattoo, and it was like... burning. And knives, lot of magical knife, dipped in potions, and I even tried to... use the edge to cut down the skin under the Mark and... I looked into Herbiology too, but nothing seemed good enough."

Hermione measured him up and after a bit of contemplating said, "Maybe, we need to reach beyond magic. I have a few ideas, but the most likely will be fucking painful," In total contrast to her words, his eyes seemed to lit up and she needed to burst the rhetorical bubble before he took it for sure. Even if he was able to endure the pain, it was fifty-fifty the Mark would disappear.

Her voice was firm and cruel as she continued explaining, "Draco, it will be the hurts-like-bitch kind of painful... the kind of painful when you faint. It's not something to play with and I'll probably need my mum to get me some Chemistry text books and we could just do it after Christmas—"

This didn't seem to deter him as he eagerly questioned her, rudely cutting her rambling of, "So what's this wonder-medicine for my problem?"

Hermione looked away, already regretting her decision of telling him, "Acid." And the words had the kind of weight which made her shoulders slump, "We'll need to use acid."

He just nodded, probably not realizing what he had just signed up for.

* * *

 _Before starting this chapter the only note I'd written for this is: dark mark + acid the perf marriage of no conception. Just an unimportant detail I felt I needed to add this._

 _Besides I'm over myself because I just looked at the stats and realized that damn, 260 user followed TBB and more than 100 faved and I'm literally blown away so thank you so much! Although, that doesn't mean you should let down on the review numbers - so please, make me smile more widely and don't forget about the little box waiting to be filled under my rambling!_


	32. (Not) normal

A hundred and twenty-eight Chemistry text books later – first fortyish were about acids, the others about everything, because yes, it was yet another thing that interested her – Hermione realized it was nearing the end of December.

Looking out of her window from the tower, the whiteness nearly blinded her.

"—so it was a quite a distraction and besides... Hermione, are you listening?" Ginny questioned, climbing towards her on the bed, accidently pushing a stock of books to the floor. She blinked a few times out of surprise and then shrugged, not caring about the raw, scientific texts. "Sorry," she said without guilt, but at least she pretended to be sheepish about it.

Hermione shook her head, "Mhm, it's nothing. I've been just... thinking," and she resisted glancing down to her left hand. It was getting harder to hide it from others, Neville knew something was not okay, Luna, ever her dreamy self, bluntly asked during breakfast a week ago, and Ginny just... made it easier for her. She didn't try to baby her, like Theo and Blaise did, or as Draco tried to do so sometimes.

"Have you received a new letter from Harry and Ron?" she ended up asking before her thoughts would have wandered too far and became too dark for her current bearing.

Ginny beamed up at her, "Yes, he said we'd meet at the Burrow just after New Years! And he hinted he wants more than friendship, but I'm still not sure!" and she babbled on and on about the Chosen One, as if Hermione didn't know him well enough. After half a minute, she zoned out, her eyes wandering back to snow outside, wishing she could just bury herself there from the reality's ugly claws. "So yeah, I'm really pumped up!" And to that she looked back at the red-head who seemed to buzz with excitement, "Anyway, did they send letters to you? Are you going to the Burrow at Christmas?"

She smiled a strained smile, nodding, "Yes, they did."

 _No, they didn't_ – was screaming in her head. Since the _Prophet_ published an article about her _preposterous_ involvement to Draco, neither of the boys sent her more letters. She knew they were digesting the new information – which wasn't true, because she was clearly not _infatuated_ with Malfoy, Skeeter's petty lies be screwed – and it may took them a few more weeks.

Since that article, most of the student body started avoiding her – minus the Slytherins of course, who assumed their rightful King would bring in his own Queen into their society – just as Pansy did with Blaise, involving her own King. And frankly, she didn't mind that that much – the younglings were always smiling at her, asking for advices and brightening her otherwise dull days.

Their time was slipping away slowly, and she was in no dreamworld. She would die, come the middle of January.

Yes, she'd accepted that – but that didn't mean the lump in her throat ceased to exist. She needed to gulp back the bile rising nearly in every hour when she had time to think. So it was easier to just shut down and pretend everything was okay.

She risked a heavy sigh, now concentrating on Ginny's bubbly-self. She was literally radiating the good vibes around. And Hermione desperately needed them – so she tried to concentrate.

"But I can't go to your place, sorry. With Vindico Parea... I can't let Draco down on this."

Ginny smiled at her, sympathetically and tenderly, nodding at her reasoning, "That's alright. But I'm sure everyone will miss you!" She had taken to an annoying habit of fiddling with her hair and just like during lessons, she occupied her hand with that activity as the next words rolled off her lips, "What's up with Malfoy and you anyway? You're always together," she added with an expectant smile, clear on where she was pointing with that sentence.

Hermione snorted.

"You said that like we were dating," she stated, the formerly so annoying blush didn't even appear this time – she was subjected to this question _that_ often. "He still doesn't want to give it up, literally goes around the castle with a knife at ready and trying to get to Solana... but the damn horse is, sadly, not stupid. It's getting to be comical," she let out a half-hearted chuckle, "She always side-steps whenever he tries and bites him in exchange."

Ginny tried to smile, but it looked as if it caused her physical pain to do so, "So you still won't believe in his success?"

She nodded, her front teeth sinking in her lower lip. She didn't dare believe anymore – his promises seemed empty as they were no closer to the cure than a month ago. Her health worsened and she was constantly trembling, sleeping ten hours a day and living off by earl grey tea as it was the only thing she could stomach beside oatmeal and apples.

Just yesterday, she fainted while climbing up on the stairs. If it wasn't for Pansy, she would have ended up in the Hospital Wing for sure. The Slytherins nearly moved her out of her beloved tower just so she wouldn't need to go all way up twenty times a day. Draco even went for McGonagall for permission, but there was no news on the matter – which she was ultimately glad for.

Gryffindor tower was normal. And normal was good.

"Vindico Parea is nothing without the unicorn blood as it is the main ingredient, Ginny," she muttered, her eyes back to the pure whiteness on the other side of the window. She had always liked the snow – it was cool, yes, but when outside, it meant a lot of fun, and was beautiful. She longed to be out of the four walls just now. "And even if the damn horse likes Draco, it hates me. I'm fucked – or with other words, I'm dead."

Her companion winced at her dry statement, her fingers awkwardly fiddling with the hem of her skirt as she contemplated her next sentences carefully, "Then if you think this way," the redhead started, a faint, mischievous glint in her irises, "why not throw caution to the wind? You should go for everything you hadn't before – try everything out which you always wanted! And—!"

Aha. She clearly didn't understand.

Hermione was hardly able to contain her bitter laughter, "Ginny, I'm in no condition to start Quidditch or a relationship for that matter. It'd just...," she took a shaky breath, her only functioning hand squeezed into a tight ball, "It'd just hurt the other party. I don't want that for anyone, especially not for Draco. He deserves more than a few happy weeks with a tragic ending."

Ginny's mouth hanged freely as she observed her friend, blinking up at her owlishly, in total confusion, "But... but!" That was the first time Hermione had confessed that there was _something_ between the two of them. Everyone knew there was, yes, but hearing from her made it more _real_. The Weasley gulped nervously, "You shouldn't think of your life like a tragedy! You could be his beginning Hermione!"

She let a wry smile took control over her lips, "And I will be nothing else."

That was the moment when something snapped in Ginny. She looked furious as she swept away the remaining books from the bed and looked in Hermione's eyes, her expression morphed and her fiery emotions suddenly ignited a new light in her caramel eyes, the intensity of determination and want wiped out Hermione's thoughts entirely.

"Are you kidding me, Hermione? You used to be stronger, so much stronger than this! You were always fighting to the very end, and now? You're broken, you've given up and don't even believe in miracles! That's just _not_ you!"

She snarled back an answer, her hazel eyes rolling, "The war did some things that's... I don't want to talk about those terrors, Ginny. And anyway, why should I believe in miracles, ha?" she questioned, unbelieving and stressed so much that her lips trembled under the weight of unsaid sentences. She was afraid to actually say the thundering thoughts out loud.

Ginny practically screamed the answer in her face, "We're living in the _wizarding word_ and you don't believe in miracles?"

So she screamed back with the very same ferocity, "I'm tired of believing in none-sense!"

"That's bollocks," Ginny grimaced and abruptly stood up, leaving Hermione cuddled up in her blankets, flushed and angrier that every with her, "You're just afraid," she sneered, her eyes filled with contempt.

To that, she snorted, turning her head away. Outside snow was normal – so the snow was good. Everything was good. "Why do you think so?"

"Because you're just waiting for death to get to you. Like a bound of nerves, closing off from reality. That's not _normal_ ," Hermione winced when hearing that word, while Ginny strode toward the door with the firmness of a soulless soldier, shrugging as if they were just strangers, changing pleasantries. "You used to solve the impossible, Hermione. And I liked that version of you better."

So that she was left alone, in the cold and empty room with her thoughts. Dangerous thoughts while Ginny's words ricocheted in her head without break.

 _You used to solve the impossible._

Damn it! She was not herself anymore! Not normal – and just like this, she felt herself more real than any time in the last month. If she managed to do the impossible numerous times, she would pull through it once more.

Death be damned, she was stronger than this.

* * *

 _Okay, so yet again thank you for your amazing responses! It brightens my days! However, the thing is, I'll be off to Manchester at Saturday morning and will be there for two and a half weeks. So I really have no idea when I'll be able to start writing the next chapter. I'm kind of nervous because that will be a first to be away from my family for that long, or fly alone for that matter. Anyway, I hope you liked this, this chapter was quite a struggle for me._

 _(and now, I'll just answer guest reviews because I can't PM them)_

 _To Guest#1, or nice Guest: yeah, I guess I over-complicated the explanation. Those constellation tattoos are like a new additition of freckles for Hermione - so I thought, why not make them more magical? They are covered glitters (similar people use on nails) - as I imagined -, and when connected to magic, they light up with the rainbow's every colour and just beautiful. I trust in your imagination with this, hope you see it in the same way! :)_

 _To Guest#2, or not nice Guest: Don't you know that human transmutation is forbidden in alchemy? The word FMA rings any bells? (you know, if you have asked in manner that not suggest I should fuck myself sideways {not sorry for the cursing} for my none-creative idea, I would have explained why I decided to use a muggle-method on the Dark Mark. I'm sorry to say this, but you don't write this story. I decide on everything - even if you don't like that decision. If I need help with the plot I'll say so. But now? It was definitely not required.)_


	33. Their moment

The idea of the potential solution came to her from the literal nothing as she was lounging in the library, under Draco's careful eyes two days after her conversation with Ginny. It was the twenty-first of December, dangerously close to the Holidays, but she hadn't the force to smile as they were getting closer and closer to mid-January, so her impending death.

Nevertheless, the idea hit her so hard, that the luxurious quill fell out of her hand.

 _You used to solve the impossible._

That's it!

"Draco," she said quietly, not risking attracting the attention of the other tables, looking up from her boring schoolwork only to see him already staring at her curiously. The quill must have landed with a louder thud than what she had heard. Oops. "I have an idea"

He contemplated the words carefully, watching her like a hawk – the way she held her head, not afraid to look him in the eyes, the dedication in her hazel eyes as they glinted in the dull lighting. He nodded once appreciatively, "Go on Granger, I haven't the whole day."

She allowed a light smile to quirk up her lips; his grumpiness was still on spot. "We should go to the Forbidden Forest," she stated flatly, her fingers playing with the end of her eagle quill. "I know of a method that can provide us with the blood."

His quicksilver eyes lit up with mirth, and he practically jolted out of his chair, hitting his hips in the table with a loud bang. She was hardly able to hold back a childish giggle when seeing him scowl at the wooden surface as if the poor thing had offended his family all the way back to the ancient roots.

It took twenty minutes to get to the edge of the forest, when it would normally take eight, but, with her being weakened down even, if her stuff was hanging from Draco's left shoulder, it was hard to get there on her own feet. She was panting heavily, trembling and really exhausted from the walk there, and trying to do her best to hide the signs of her state – she had a feeling that Draco didn't buy it for a second. He kept an eye on her constantly as she fought her way through the forest, holding onto the vast tree trunks lest the slippery soil make her fall.

Because if she fell, she would not be able to gain footing yet again, on her own.

With this alarming thought rolling in her head, she led the way, going 'round and 'round, determined to find their destination. She stopped didn't stop until reaching a seemingly regular bush.

An estatic smile settled on her lips as she fell on her weak knees. Draco – of course – was next to her the very same minute, gushing over her as if she were a nursery student, incapable of handling herself. By that point, maybe she was. Nothing mattered anymore, just the bush. Or rather, what was under the blackberry bush.

So she shrugged off his comforting hands immediately, and bent forward, her chest kissing the soil. She didn't even care about her robes getting dirty as she started shovelling with her fingers, desperately looking for the treasure that could spare her. She felt his hands on her back as he tried to stop her, push her away, muttering that _'I would do it, just tell me what you need'_ in her ear, but she did not relent for his wishes.

Hermione squealed when she felt the cold, hard stone against her skin and Draco leaned away when she pulled it out from the roots' covering with such haste. It nearly made her trip over by the plus force she invested in the action.

She grinned up at him. He did not look amazed.

"What's that thing? A bone?"

She rolled her eyes, slightly and almost imperceptibly leaning against him for leverage as she felt her body being weighted by the poison wrecking havoc in her system, "No, it is not," Hermione stated, wrinkling her nose, clearly offended as her voice was definite even if her posture showed everything but..., "I'm sure you heard about the Deathly Hallows."

He nodded. She mimicked him.

"And then Granger what? Everyone heard the story. It's a wizarding fairy tale... What now?" he asked mockingly, "You'd use this useless _bone_ ," at her pointed look, he quickly rephrased, "useless _rock_ and play God all of sudden? Is that supposed to be the resurrection stone or what?"

She scowled, "It is the resurrection stone and not just a useless rock as you so kindly put it," she huffed and started rubbing it clean with a random tissue she found in her bag. She didn't really notice it was the one Draco gave her and she forgot to return ever since. "Your mother wrote me as I was asking more about Estrella's death, that her grave just around Hagrid's cottage... We could go there now and have this done with and then everything would—!"

Her eyes were shining and full of life, she was excited and happy for the first time in a month, but still, seeing her like this, hurt him deeply. He couldn't watch her having her hopes up, and so _alive_ when he knew what she was chasing was something unreachable. So he turned his head away, muttering, "That's impossible."

From his periphery, he could see her falter and that beautiful and refreshing smile melt away from her cherry lips, but he didn't dare analyse her further. There was something definitely _not_ okay with her – and that moment, he realized that.

She bit in her lower lip, trying to dismiss his words as they ate away the nice vision she built up for herself. "But that's it, Draco! Don't you understand? I can do impossible... Ginny said so," she argued weakly, the reason sounding childish even to her ears while her voice was trembling, barely louder than an errant breeze flitting through the forest.

Hermione found herself cradling the scarred forearm in her lap, and looking down, she became painfully aware that even if it was a part of her body – she couldn't move it; she couldn't feel with it.

He really had no idea why this sentence got the rise out of him – there were many reasons it did: it was ridiculously pointless, demanding and stubborn to the point of unreasonable and all above that it was perfectly illogical.

So Draco couldn't stop the angry word-vomit, "Do you really expect me to nod on something like that? Resurrecting a dead unicorn just to get her blood? Are you kidding me Hermione?" he spluttered when seeing the excited and unrelenting glinting in her eyes was still very much present. "Are you that desperate? You just can't go with it! You read the tale, you know the ending and if you manage – just you, because I sure as hell won't have anything to do with this idiotic idea – and patch up the rotten body of the damned horse, it wouldn't work, I assure you! It's just would make any good – respect the fucking way of Life, Granger!"

By the end, he was sure his entire face was flushed as he was trembling in absolute fury and ready to destroy an entire room. He would have killed for hexing something, but the aurors would see he was using magic out of the lesson time – and still, he couldn't risk something like this. It was too big of deal to fuck up right now.

So he growled like a mad animal, hardly registering Hermione's change in behaviour.

It was miniature – the bitter smile imperceptible on her face and her airy voice setting a new kind of fear in Draco's heart. He was afraid to hear the words which were on the top of her tongue.

"Are you willing to lose a chance of my love?"

Low-blow, she knew, but she was far over the point she wouldn't call all-in in any moment. The words were meant to be cruel and straight-forward but so true that it actually rendered Draco speechless even as he was preparing another tirade.

For a moment all he was able to do was gulp, looking at her wide-eyed, and even forgetting about his feverish temper while watching her absently play with the poison green grass with her only functioning hand, utterly dazed while smiling at the shapes she was drawing. Granger looked innocent, pure and oh-so-fucking perfect, but the whole situation put him off track and he didn't even dare fantasise anymore.

"You're mad," was the first thing that stumbled off his tongue.

She froze mid-movement, and then her smile widened. She looked up, her hazels shining with a plus, glassy surface. Held-back tears, he knew. "You do catch up on things faster than any of my other friends," she muttered.

Suddenly, an avalanche got loose in his chest and he needed to hold onto her narrow, boney and still so feminine shoulders. They clutched each other desperately, Hermione's fingers strongly tugging on his shirt while he did everything to offer her some comfort. They needed this. They needed this moment for themselves.

She started shaking as she sobs break loose, echoing in the quiet forest and at that same moment, Draco felt something shatter into tiny pieces in his chest, "I know how you— you feel about me, Malfoy...," she cried, her words hardly comprehensible in between the hurried gulps of air and equally quick overwhelming sobs that came with her exhales. "And you are— are well aware of my fee— feelings, too... Then why are you not answering me?"

He hugged her tightly, trying to calm her down with soothing words, little and sweet, even if knowing it was entirely hopeless. He wanted her to know he was there for her now, to get the tiny pieces together and puzzle her up when it was sure she would survive. So Draco pressed her petite form more into his chest.

"Because there are boundaries," he said eventually just to say something, "And I'm too big of a coward to get through them for now."

She just felt a bit more miserable with that answer, didn't even caring as she cried so loudly that even the birds took off to escape from hearing the horrid sounds. Hermione sniffed pitifully, being a bit more comforted by his close proximity and the rich chocolate scent that always lingered around him.

It felt good to be in his arms, so warm and so sheltered and she maybe fell for him a little more just because of that. But she couldn't... she really couldn't as she remembered that this moment, their moment wouldn't take so long... maybe just for this hour... or maybe, just for a few more minutes.

She wanted to be selfish, so badly, but she couldn't do that with Draco. Not when in a few weeks, he would need to let her go if the tiniest thing went wrong.

So she let the tears roll down on her cheeks freely, and turned away from his warm chest, slightly pushing him back, even if the gentle thuds of his beating heart wanted to lure her in, giving her a taste of what could be, being wrapped into his arms for eternity.

"Don't you understand Draco... I still need to do this. You have no idea how I feel, Draco... We shouldn't start something that ends with tragedy."

He sighed in her hair a heavy breathe, weighted by the future that was unknown for both. It lifted up the messy locks for a brief dance. Promising, mesmerising and definitely not enough.

"You forget so easily that I was in you place, Hermione... and I survived," he said harshly and couldn't resist: he pecked her cheek, too afraid that if he tainted her lips with his own, she would fall to pieces like a porcelain doll. She turned her head further away, and he sighed yet again. "Besides, the tragedies were always the most famous masterpieces throughout history. The only question is, Hermione," he said, his eyes never leaving her beautiful, feminine features, those features that made his heart beat widely, "Do we risk everything for the impossible?"

She couldn't stop the bitter laugh coming out – so wounded and so burning that it actually hurt to let it out, "You should be angry," she said, "And we don't have time for decisions so heavy – we just need to go for it. But... you made me doubt this idea. And we hardly have time for dating, Draco," she argued and tried hard to stay strong. Thankfully, the words came out unwavering and swelling with her force, "If we don't find the blood, we need to say goodbye." It was dry and sour on her tongue, and the glance he gave her was heavy, guarded and full of doubts. Even he didn't know what to do with the promise of love and knowing there was a good chance she would die before anything could actually start between them.

It made the lump grow in her throat yet again, but she was stubborn and rather, just rubbed the former tears away from under her eyes.

"You're getting bitter."

Just like that, she couldn't hold back that sudden urge to chuckle at his statement, "Really, what do you expect from me?"

He joined in, their moment awkward and heavy with unsaid words and bottled up emotions, "Right."

And just like that, the silence settled in minus the nearing nickering that ricocheted in the woods. They looked up, bewildered to face an irritated unicorn, demanding their attention, Solana standing in the soft daylight with all her grace.

They sighed heavily, knowing that their moment was over.


	34. Selene

What Solana showed them was like experiencing an earth-quake for Hermione – her footing seemed lost on the mud of the forest as she kneeled down, in front of the other unicorn, laying gracefully just a few feet away from them. She looked in the copper eyes of the royal creature as she nickered in appreciation, nodding her approval in their way.

Hermione scooted closer, and suddenly, felt the connection: it was if someone had cut through her skull, the unicorn's presence in her head was that intense. She had no idea what he was talking when Draco rambled on and on how he was able to understand Solana, but now, everything was clear. It was warm, comforting even as the creature showed pictures in her head, of crescent moons and heavens and stars and constellation, darkness and the little shining planets on the sky.

So that's how Hermione got to know her name: Selene. The name of the moon's Greek goddess. It was fitting and she wished she could have got more of the ecstatic connection, but Draco rudely interrupted.

He shook her shoulders with such sheer force that she felt dizzy.

"What?" she asked in a weak voice, her eyes still focused on Selene as she tried to reach her with moving her long neck, but wasn't able to. Looking down at her hooves, she saw it: her legs were curled under her in a twisted angle, bones stuck out, never able to hold her up, let alone move from their position. Hermione – even unconsciously – squeezed her left hand with her right, familiar with the unicorn's pain – but it still wasn't a same for her. Thankfully, she was able to stand and walk around on her own feet.

"You're zoning out," Draco barked in her face, the nerves just seemed to hit him now from their former dispute. He was tense, snappy and ever so impatient. "I asked you three times if the unicorn was able to get into your head or not."

Hermione nodded and put her hand on his left, stroking his knuckles to get him to let her go, "Yes, yes she did," and finally looked in his meticulous irises, her heart leaving out a beat, "Her name is Selene. And she's disabled."

Draco grimaced, looking down at the magical being with sorrow to which she arrogantly snorted at and turned away, as if irritated that he dared and felt sorry for her. Hermione giggled at the proud unicorn's reaction, slightly leaning into Draco's chest for support, "It seems she doesn't want your sympathy."

Their foggy breathes mixed as they stopped for a moment in each other's embrace, for Hermione to gather some strength and go forward and for Draco to let her go. Ever so nice, Solana gave them a little push with her enormous head, her even bigger horn missing Draco's blonde head just an inch, "I swear she wants to kill me," he sighed heavily.

Hermione giggled weakly, "At least she's being subtle."

And that seemed to be the cue as she started peeling off his arms from around her dirty, damp robes and wobbly climbing towards Selene on her knees. They were out in the cold for two hours now, in the end of December and the sun had set twenty minutes ago – she was exhausted, but it was not one of those moments of going to bed without accomplishing something.

At least, a few years ago, her goal was simply to read a book, from cover to cover, but know it was getting a chance of survival. Because she wasn't an idiot – clearly, the Brightest Witch of her Age title must meant something – and see the opportunity in this situation.

She was – at first – worried that Selene wouldn't let her touch her, because of her ulterior intention, but there was no resistance from the creature… She curled her head in her lap almost immediately, closing her shining copper eyes when they touched. Hermione was entranced, stroking the line of unicorn's nose and then all the way back to her horn. It was nothing like silk like she had imagined as a kid when she fantasised about magic; it was thick fur, so thick that her fingers were impossible to spot as they ran through it.

She sighed and Hermione smiled, already fond of the pressure of the unicorn's presence in her skull as she looked through her memories, gripping onto the most important ones: when she would sit in her room, in the darkness, mesmerized by the little flame she was able to conjure in her palm; the moment she got her Hogwarts' letter; days with Harry and Ron; the calmness of the library when she snuck out of her dorm at the dead of night; about the war and Bellatrix Lestrange – during which, she shuddered and stopped with her activity. Understanding her reaction, Selene let that one slip, but that didn't mean she was finished.

She looked into the details of her life – nowadays, her struggles, her time with the reformed group of Slytherins, with Ginny, Luna and Neville, and especially paying attention to the feelings she couldn't get rid off.

Selene envisioned her love towards a certain blonde like a little flame – the same they saw when she was four, holding it in her palms, growing gradually as the weeks passed and warming her up from both the inside and outside, but sadly, it was no cure for the damned Essence of Spurius.

But suddenly, as if a knife would have cut through their thread of connection, there was a breach.

Selene backed away from her mind alarmingly fast, touching every of her passing thoughts out of desperation, seeking something for evidence.

And that's how Hermione knew the unicorn realized what she wanted from her. And when she opened her eyes, the unicorn gazed into hers, the coppers widened in fear of the promise of her thoughts.

Hermione shook her head, "I wouldn't." Then, she rethought, to Selene's chagrin, "More like I wouldn't dare do it without your consent. But—,"

Yet again, there it was: the damn lump that always wanted to force her to cry. She looked down, her gaze lingering on her left forearm, even though she couldn't see much in the darkness, much less with blurred eyesight.

She sighed and turned back towards Draco, who was half-asleep, in between Solana and the tree neighbouring their own. He leaned to the vast trunk while Solana looked after him – not just him, looked after everyone as she seemed to be Selene's guardian –, standing above them with her eyes going from side to side as she studied the silence of the Forbidden Forest.

Her voice was raspy when she spoke, "Solana, can you wake up Draco? I can't perform magic," the words tumbled out of her mouth, even though she was even afraid of confessing it to herself. There was a reason why she didn't show off with her exceptional skills in the last month: precisely, on the nineteenth of November, she simply woke up and noticed the change: she was unable to light up her room with a _lumos_. And ever since – she hadn't had much use of her wand.

Obediently, Solana licked Draco's face to get him to get up. At first, the Malfoy heir just murmured something unintelligible, but after the second lick, her white-washed eyelashes fluttered open and he scooted away from the unicorn, scowling and being definitely irritated and obviously disgusted.

Solana and Hermione snorted out of amusement, and the witch called him over to her tree.

"Why do you need my assistance for something as simple as _lumos_?" he asked, but performed the spell without any problems. His eyes widened when Hermione started rolling up the sleeves on her left hand, pushing it towards Selene.

"I can't use magic, Draco," she said, prepared for his anger, which didn't come. She turned towards him, her eyes widened when all Draco did was nodding, "You knew about that?"

"Hermione, I'm not an idiot," he stated the obvious and turned away, not being able to look not just at the scar itself, but even at the thick bandage that covered it. He sighed knowing full well that it was now a bloodied, dark mess on her skin. "I noticed that you can't lift with your hand and can't move it a long time ago. The poison blocked your magic in November, and that was… expected."

"Expected?" she echoed as she rolled the white cloth off her hand. The unicorn in front of her watched her intensely, her copper eyes stuck to the surface that just came to be visible, "It wasn't mentioned in the Book of Lethal Poisons."

Draco shook his head, "Yes, it wasn't. Remember, what you have is an alteration. Snape's version is a way more…," he stopped in seek of the right word.

"Nastier," Hermione supplied and Selene nickered in nervousness when seeing the mudblood scar on her arm. She sighed.

He nodded, "Yes, nastier. But that doesn't mean it's not worrying…" Both knew what he meant: the end was drawing near for her.

The unicorns looked at each other, and both of the war veterans could see the silent conversation going on in between the surprisingly intelligent creatures. The minutes ticked by extremely slowly, Hermione waited with baited breath, and side-glancing at Draco, she knew he was trembling out of barely suppressed excitement. Both knew that was the moment they had been chasing in the last few months. They both knew the unicorns would determine the future.

One more minute ticked by.

Hermione needed to exhale the pent up air in her lungs, keeping her eyes focused on Selene. The unicorn slowly turned her head towards her and gave her a nod. A little nod – barely perceptible, and that was enough of assurance.

She let a smile slip on her lips, "Thank you."

* * *

 _This chapter was utter struggle. And I'm sorry, I will answer the reviewsI swear! I'm just pretty much buried under learning stuff and some rocks. So, if you want to give me some ultra-mega-superpower, please, write a review. It'd be totally awesome! (yeah, I watched a very potter musical, thanks for asking ;D )_


	35. Wonders of Chemistry

"Theo!"

"What?" The poor guy was scared out of his mind and in his hurry to put the phial of sloshing, midnight black potion back to its place, he nearly broke it. Thankfully, he caught it before the catastrophe could happen and put it back on the sink. There were five more of those there, two the same as the one he held, and the other three were deep maroon and stickier.

He had no idea what those were, but Hermione's warning glare was enough to make him carefully back away from the sinks.

Truly, their love nest was amazing. It could compete with Snape's former laboratory – he lamented, dazed as he glanced around: the mist gathered just under the ceiling, plants hanging from near the mirrors attached to thick chains and numerous books littered around, muggle and wizarding kind both, half of it from Malfoy Manor, he was sure. Most of the piles held up cauldrons, some with finished potions inside, or some with prepared ingredients for complicated brews, and numerous empty glass phials laid everywhere, rolling on the floor. He nearly crushed a few during his way to the centre.

And lastly, he felt like an idiot for wondering where his favourite couch disappeared two and a half months ago. Of course Draco corrupted it! And of course it landed in their duo's headquarters. At least the fluffy, obviously Gryffindor pillows were any of compensation to his wounded soul: those brainless idiots got to miss something, too!

Okay, now, he was just being childish.

Draco was sitting there while Hermione held his left forearm, looking at the Dark Mark with extreme intensity that would normally be enough to burn down walls, while Neville Longbottom loomed over their heads as the two spoke in secrecy, hushed and private.

Now, you see, Theo had no idea why they were here. Their favourite star-crossed lovers said nothing to them, just Hermione grabbed Neville and then he – unfortunately! – bumped into them on the first floor and of course Draco asked (read: ever so elegantly commanded) him to join their lovely troop. And ever since then, the two love birds were committed to themselves, making him wonder why the fuck their extremely important persons were required as before they were perfectly okay with being romantic all alone.

Really, that would be the million-galleon question in Snape's pop quiz show, if he ever had one in his life.

So Theodore scowled at them, turned around and continued on exploring, because the shelter they built themselves was actually enthralling. He caught a title of an especially vast book at the edge of his eyesight and he hurried towards it, having no idea what 'Chemistry' meant, but was excited to find out.

He carefully removed it from under a cauldron, full of lavender and other foul smelling herbs and hit it up at the middle, looking wide-eyed and the capital letters of Cs and Hs combined with numbers and linked in an interesting figure. He started rotating the book in his laps, trying to see a form in it, in the end he arrived at the conclusion: this was no fun at all. It resembled nothing. And of course it was Granger's book!

He clicked his pocketwatch open in his utter boredom and checked the time: twenty-three whole minutes and seventeen seconds wasted from his precious life. It was getting to be ridiculous, and looking back at the three, they still didn't move an inch from their positions.

Theo couldn't bear it anymore, "What the fuck am I doing in your love nest?"

Looking up, Draco sent him a hard scowl, Granger did the same, but spiced it with rolling her eyes and Longbottom, well… If his expression was something to rely on, he was asking the same question in his head over and over for the last twenty-three minutes and forty-nine seconds, too.

After three more minutes and twenty-three seconds later, Granger spoke up.

"It's just a bathroom, Theo," she said, letting go of Draco's hand. She turned away from him, flashing her bum in Malfoy's face – which he didn't mind, or as his contented smirk suggested – and continued on, finally telling them what was the purpose of this impromptu gathering. "Besides, we need help. Actually, we need a lot," she confessed while gesturing between her and Draco, and Theo nodded. She turned to Neville and he did the same in agreement.

It seemed Hermione just needed that as she let relief wash over her expression, "We'll get rid of the Dark Mark… with this little thing," she said and lifted a dark brown bottle, full of sloshing liquid. He would have expected some kind of confident smile after that statement as no one had managed to find a method to get rid of the Death Eater symbol before, but Hermione's lips didn't quirk up even a slightly bit. If anything, she looked sullen and disdained for having to do this.

Neville's eyes widened comically thanks to the shock and Theo settled on being doubtful.

"It's an acid," she added, "Hydrochloric acid to be exact, and can eat away skin in high concentration, so the tattoo would disappear too. Fucking painful," she sent a withering look at Draco's way, full of concern and worries while he was idiotically smiling. Malfoy, obviously, didn't get what he would undergo. "If Draco had a bit of luck, he will black out. If not… well, we are in shit. Neck-deep."

Looking at Longbottom, he already was about to object, so Theo decided to be faster, "So you want us what? For audience?" he paused to have a better effect and let the words sink in even for the euphoric Draco. He was an idiot, clearly. "Granger, I have no intention seeing that Hydro-thing melt Draco to a fucking puddle so I'll pass. I don't want take part in his suicide attempt, thank you very much."

Longbottom nodded along and both were about to turn away, when Hermione, ever so nicely, threw a shoe at him. The ballet flat crushed with his skull and he turned back, enraged, "What the fuck Granger? You know I like you but—!"

Hermione stomped with her barefoot, "Theodore Nott, you utter nutter! This is very dangerous and I need the both of you to restrain Draco because otherwise there's a good chance his magic goes in a rampage, promptly murdering me and probably crashing our so called love nest as you put it so kindly, destroying all of our recently started projects and research!" she sounded desperate and scared under the mask of nuisance and Theo hadn't the time to cut her off when he was analysing her. So he let her rave on. "If our work is ruined, I swear, I'll come back from the damned graveyard and haunt you for all your fucking life you bigoted mule, so you grab your wand Theodore Nott and put up some fucking wards around the chair or else, I snap!" and she pointed to Draco's general direction to make a point.

He considered playing scared, but was too pureblood to do so, "I have a question though," he proposed while Neville shook his head and very not discretely suggested he should shut up, as always did everyone in his surrounding. Sadly, that didn't stop Theo, though, "How could you use wards in Hogwarts? Better yet, why aren't you doing it yourself?"

One more demanding look and she was about to open her mouth yet again, so Theo rushed to work. He was glad for the silence for once. It was easier to work like this, even though his curiousness chewed his brain cells to none-existent and Theo needed to force himself to focus on the information he had about warding.

However, he wasn't left without answer as it came to his question a few minutes after when he just started to put on the simplest ward.

Her voice was now a way calmer, but still trembling, sad, but definitely annoyed. "I can't perform magic. Of any kind, to be honest," she confessed, not even looking up from the floor.

It was easier to say now – Hermione noted to herself. She had two days for herself and this knowledge crushed her during those. She had a fit in Daco's King bedroom so he needed to sleep in Blaise's room for two days – as the poor lad was away, being introduced to Dhalie Parkinson – until she was willing to open the door. They ended up cleaning for a whole afternoon and then cuddle afterwards. Both needed that night of silence and for understanding each other better… however, in the last five days, they didn't even mention that night, engrossed with projects and preparations.

"And if you had actually read _Hogwarts: A History_ , you would know that you can ward inside the building, but not around it. Use blood wards, Theo. The strongest you know," she instructed quietly and started playing with the cork of the acid bottle. Its popping sounds were far more amusing than counting the plain tiles anyway.

They were in silence for a minute, and Theo was about to slice his palm open when it occurred to him, "Wait! Aren't those illegal? The aurors're still checking my wand weekly and I just forgot—!"

Hermione sighed heavily, not even looking up from her game, but it was Draco who answered, "Aren't you cute for worrying, Nott? The building," and for that, he pointed at the ceiling, just as his favourite ghost was flitting above, "is covering for us. Myrtle helped us with it, and besides," and that he smirked in the infamous Malfoy-manner, "When had it ever bothered you that something was illegal? You, obviously, know the deal, Nott, so do us a favour and hurry up."

His answer was a reflection of that smirk, "You're right," and he started working on the task.

* * *

Deep breaths. Very deep and slow, inhales and exhales. That was how Hermione prepared herself in the last fifty minutes while Theo and Neville worked on the warding and Draco gazed up at the sky with a delusional smile as if he weren't about to undergo torture. Because this could equal all the pain both endured thanks to Essence of Spurius and Bellatrix's nice little _crucios_.

Hermione couldn't stop nibbling on her lip in her nervousness or fiddling with the bottle because otherwise she would hammer her head for better ideas. But this was a possible solution, good enough to get rid of the Dark Mark. Besides, they didn't have time for experimenting and going for another.

Should any type of the Vindico Parea fail to cure her out of the two brews, Draco would be left with that ugly reminder of his mistakes and that would not be well… ideal. She would not like to leave this planet without accomplishing at least this one little task. And knowing him, he would need to have a clear mind. Draco would blame himself for her death and right now, she couldn't let that happen.

Nevertheless she already had some letters drifted out. For him, for Harry and Ron – and her parents, if they ever got back their memories, that is.

A wry smile slipped on her lips. She was getting weaker and weaker and now… she felt like a rag doll with heavy and uncontrollable limbs. So they needed to do this as fast as possible and then she would need to make a rushed but important decision for which to use: the maroon or the midnight blue. Two versions of Vindico Parea and only one was able to cure her. She sighed and closed her eyes, praying that she would choose the right one next week.

A heavy hand landed on her shoulder and she let a dragging breath out as Draco's squeeze strengthened, giving her hope and confidence, "Everything's going to be alright," he murmured in her ear and kissed her cheek so softly and featherly that her heart churned into it. It was affectionate and yet again, he made her feel like they were the only people walking on Earth, isolated, in a bubble of their own where such trivial things like death, exhaustion and regret didn't exist. It gave her comfort and strength to repeat, ' _everything's going to be alright_ '.

He smiled and pulled her in his lap, "I'm starting to get nervous."

"Me too," she said. Hermione simply let the moment slip as she relaxed, deep breaths in and out. She liked his intense scent of chocolate that was so different to the herbs and bubbling potion's mixing stench. All those smells harassed her nose into wrinkling, but with her head burrowed into Draco's firm chest, she managed to forget about them. The same way she forgot about the other two men curiously watching them.

"Alright, quit it lovey-doveys, we are finished!" came the shout.

It was Theo. Of course it was Theo. It was always Theo, ever the spoil-sport.

She scampered on her feet and waited for the two wizards to come around, not even having the time to feel embarrassed, she started barking further instructions, "Now, please _incarcerous_ him. Secure his left arm, hold it firm," and before Neville fired the spell, she made Draco shift to a right angle, so that his legs could be bind to the legs of the chair and his torso to the back rest.

She gave an approving nod to Neville and just like that, Draco started panicking.

"Concentrate on my voice, Draco," Hermione admonished, seeing the signs of his nervousness, crouching down and locking eyes with the widened greys of his, so terrified and so wild. He looked like a hunter, getting trapped by its prey, scared out of his mind. As if he knew it was the prey's time for a game.

And when he heard the cork of the acid bottle pop open, he forcefully shut his eyes, so tightly that he saw rainbow-coloured spots behind his lids.

"Everything's going to be alright. Your words, not mine," Hermione tried again, but Draco still didn't react. He tried to pretend he wasn't even there, his chest waving with big, hurried breaths. "I'm gonna' start. Now," she said firmly and squeezed his fingers. It gave him a little comfort.

His muscles flexed in the fear as the first few drops landed over the Dark Mark and for a few seconds, he didn't even feel anything. The Dark Mark behaved like a shield on his arm, covering it from harm, and as Hermione didn't hear a hiss, she became braver with the pouring.

It didn't take long for Draco to scream like mad, feeling as if blazing hell-fire licked his skin off with its jagged tongue. Curse words tumbled out of his lips and that moment, he was ready to bring back Voldemort only to strangle the scumbag with his own two hands. That if he actually had something left from his entire arm. It felt like it was ripping itself off of his body.

Big, hot tears rolled down his cheeks, mixed with perspiration and he tried grinding against the ropes in hope of getting free and faintly, he could hear Hermione scream at Neville to hold it together as he threw up beside them and to an equally white Theo to silence the room. She tried to sooth him with sweet nothings, squeezing his fingers rhythmically in her good hand, but the feeling of being eaten away by acid kept his mind occupied somehow.

It bloody hurt and Draco now didn't see a thing. Not even Hermione's big, doe eyes of innocent hazel, not even the panicking Theo or the worrying Myrtle who, as always couldn't help… He looked through everything and anything in the bathroom, people, stuff and ghost all together.

It bloody hurt – that was the only thing he was able to understand. It felt like burning up and it reminded him of the three days when he had Essence of Spurius in his system. His arm pulsated with recognition, itched and burned up all together. He heard the sizzling sound as the acid worked its way through layers of his skin and it was enough to throw him over them dam.

He blacked out.

* * *

"You can do this, Draco. You can absolutely do this. You survived a war, this should be a piece of cake for your," Hermione tried with a different tactic, but Draco gave no indication of understanding it. He grumbled and cursed and cried and sobbed, and it even hurt her to look, not to mention the knowledge that she was the cause of his pain. It tore her apart from the insides, but she willed herself to keep it together. She really needed to keep it together; for both of their sakes.

Hermione checked on his trembling arm, seeing maroon blood and acid mixed, little scraped of his pale skin and the remains of the Dark Mark. It started disappearing as the liquid burnt down the ink, but it was a slower process. The black stigma seemed covered his skin from any harm, but around it, everything was covered in blood by now. But the ink itself just _started_ fading.

She grimaced and rubbed away the acid with a towel she had prepared beside him hours ago. She got rid of the blood from around the Mark, pouring some water on it to try to protect the other parts around it.

Her teeth sank in her mouth as she repeated all over: pouring acid on his pale forearm, rubbing and then pouring water. _Acid, towel, water; acid, towel, water; acid…_ she chanted it like a mantra, half-crazed and concentrating every of her brain cells at the task at hand. She didn't even notice when Draco fainted from the pain.

However, she vaguely was aware that Theo tried to pull her away. She knew Neville was looking anywhere but at Draco's ugly forearm, because its sight was disgusting by now. The hydrochloric acid caused blisters to appear, red lashes, as if they were lightning, ran along the white canvas of his pale body and there was blood. Jesus, there was a lot of blood.

After minutes, she thought she was only able to see in one colour: maroon.

She cried out, "Theo give him water! Theo, keep him hydrated! And hold the artery to the bone!" she demanded even though she knew it wasn't allowed to give anything to unconscious people. She knew that but at this rate, he would die of blood loss. " _Water; acid, towel, water…,_ it's going to be okay. Everything's going to be okay, _acid, towel, water; acid…_ "

Tears blurred her eyes and she let them fall, right on his injured hand. His little finger twitched and it drew her attention there immediately. She thought it meant good. She thought they could end this torture in the matter of seconds, she thought _everything's going to be okay_.

But that was none other than a sign of catastrophe.

Draco's magic erupted from his body like he was some kind of breathing bomb. It sent her flying to the sinks, knocking over several cauldrons, some full of potions, some without anything. She grasped and willed herself not to concentrate on the pain that radiated from her back or the blood that tickled down from her forehead. Instead, she checked on Neville and Theo as they were in the same position, laying on the floor. Noting stopped their fall though, so they were a few more metres away.

Then, just as abruptly, there was another blast.

This time, Hermione was grateful she didn't move away. She heard the windows cracking and then breaking out of their frames and Myrtle screamed, the neat piles of books fell from the wind his magic crated and their sofa was knocked over. Not to mention the cauldrons of different potions were scattered around, different colours of liquids mixed together, flowing idly in the cracks of tiles.

Hermione felt even more tears picker in the corner of her eyes and she sniffed pitifully just before screaming on the top of her lungs, "Draco you can do this! You are stronger than this! I believe in you," she begged brokenly, trying not to think that her greatest fear just became reality. His magic lashed out at everything and anything in his proximity, tearing down the ropes of _incarcerous_ and cracking up the tiles of the floor in tiny pieces. The chair was on the verge of falling to chunks too.

She tried again, her voice wavering, "I trust you, I believe in you and you can do this! Can you hear me? I trust you with my life, and I know you wouldn't want to hurt me, so I'm going for you," she determined, not bothered by the loud protesting from both Neville and Theo.

Funny, she never thought those two would ever agree on anything.

Controlling her impending sobs, she climbed forward on her knees, from one fallen book piles to the other, withholding against the strong wind his uncontrollable power caused. He had a gift, a force to be reckoned with. His magic even had a colour which was quite rare. It was silver, hardly spottable in the whirlwind and from behind the veil in her eyes. It looked beautiful as it shined in the harsh, clear sunlight, but she had little time for marvelling at this exceptional view.

So she climbed forward, screaming on the top of her lugs. It was quite a battle: he was determined not to let anyone too close. So she screamed who she was, all the names he had ever referred to her, like filthy little Mudblood, Granger or Hermione, told him about her puffy, bushy hair and some moments of their friendship. How she treasured their friendship and telling him things she liked about him, the way he cracked a smile whenever he was amused, but was not comfortable to show it, and his dedication for helping her. She told him how grateful she was and that he needed to wake up so that she could properly thank him.

That finally did it.

The wind quieted down and Hermione was able to reach him, desperately grabbing at his knee for support as she looked into meticulous grey eyes, numbed and tired by pain. Shaking her head and making herself concentrate, she looked down on his arm, rubbing the remaining acid away to start and loosely cover it.

She grasped and then smiled up at him. He didn't seem to understand this gesture. All he did was hurriedly gulping down air as if he were afraid there wouldn't be left any in a few seconds. But it was enough for Hermione – because he survived, was over the hell.

So she let her walls down and her smile to waver and all of sudden, she broke out in painful sobs, her tears staining his black trousers as she rubbed against his thigh like a puppy who had finally found its owner. She wept, screamed and hugged him in relief, not bothered by the glass shards laying around them in the sunlight or the foul stench of the mixed potions. She held onto his clothes like her life depended on it, even though he couldn't do anything to give her some kind of comfort.

Draco was numb, bind to the chair and utterly exhausted. He didn't even know about the havoc his powers wrecked in their bathroom, wasn't even aware of the two men just beside them. Or the big, ugly burn the acid caused. Or about the absence of the Dark Mark from the inside of his left forearm.

* * *

 _I'm sure you've noticed by now that we're getting closer to the end game. I expect that this story will end around 40ish chapters... But until that, don't forget to tell me what you think of this chapter because when I was looking at the pictures of skin, burnt by hydrochloric acid, I was on the verge of throwing up. I intentionally tampered down the description. So, the thing is, I'm really curious what you think!_

 _And of course, I would like to say thank you for all those nice reviews! I'm just sorry I can't asnwer the guest reviewers directly, and I don't feel its right to use A/Ns for that purpose so... I just want you all to know that I really do appreciate all the support!_


	36. Colours

It didn't feel right. Nothing felt right ever since Draco had passed out.

 _It was dark in the hospital wing, so dark that the only thing she was able to see was the two blondes' whitewashed head. Narcissa sat in front of her, her vibrant, azure eyes empty while her hand laid on the over-washed, greyed sheets. Draco hadn't moved an inch for two days now._

 _"_ _You silly, silly children," Narcissa mumbled while tilting her head to gain better sight of the two, however it was little she could actually see. Her eyes automatically spotted the marred skin on his son's left forearm. She sighed, shaking her head from side to side, "You really shouldn't have."_

 _Hermione anxiously moistened her lips, "He wanted me to help him with this. I warned him about the pain, but he was careless." Even Hermione was shaken how easily the words slipped from her lips, even though her voice was hoarse and guttural._

 _Narcissa cracked a fragile smile at her, "That's just like him."_

 _She shifted when under the scrutinizing eyes, her thumb, which rubbed the top of Draco's right hand, froze, "I need to ask you something, Narcissa."_

 _The matriarch just simply and very unladylikely shrugged, her head immediately turned back towards her son. She didn't even pretend she cared._

 _Hermione took it as a permission, "Maroon or blue?"_

 _That simple question seemed to perk up the sleep-deprived wife's attention, "Pardon?"_

 _"_ _You heard me," she stated and after a moment, she resumed back to fiddling with Draco's extremely big hand. His palm was soft, while the skin was rough on his knuckles and so pale that it looked like it was actually lightning in the darkness, "Just about colours?" she shrugged half-heartedly, trying to conceal her nervousness, "What are your thoughts about them? About maroon and blue, I mean."_

 _Even if Narcissa thought it was a strange question, she answered with seriousness, melancholy latched in her soft, calming voice as she wrapped the cruel words into eloquent sentences, "I think… maroon is the colour of dried blood." To that, Hermione shivered, "Probably been split for days, that kind of colour is maroon. It suggests death, torture and hopelessness, for me, at least." Maybe, this would freak out any sane person, but Hermione – by now – was definitely not one of those. Besides, Mrs. Malfoy's words could be understandable; she was a veteran, she survived two wars, basically unscathed. Only her entire family minded both times._

 _She quickly gulped down her nerves, lest Narcissa would catch on it, "And blue? What does it remind you?"_

 _If she ever hoped to receive something not bothering to the soul… well, it was a foolish hope. Narcissa spoke without little consideration, slashing in the silence with ease, "Blue as a very deep lake, frosty, too, full of seaweed and without much creatures. Cruel. And so deep that you can drown in it, should you ever give onto the temptation to jump… Even if it was just for fun." Hermione could see as her navy eyes widened and became haunted at that very moment. "Probably that kind of blue would pull you down, until you drown."_

 _Hermione's mouth fell open at that, she felt her heart-race quicken and her fingers twitched around Draco's cold hand, "My thoughts exactly."_

She knew about the days passing, felt herself getting gradually weaker after each and every hour, but she was determined enough not to give onto temptation. That lake didn't feel right, the process of drowning sounded a lot worse than the actual death's promise. Being dead seemed easier than dying.

So she held onto hope, she held onto Draco's hand and listened to the nocturnes, playing in her head, humming along the melody. She knew she was slowly going insane, of course she knew that! She was well aware of that development, but she just kept on going forward, without resting, without napping to get Draco to wake.

 _Was he willing to take risks? To lose the chance of her love?_

She never got answers when she needed those the most.

There was time when she cried – so hard that her sobs echoed in the hospital wing. There was time when she just sat there, void and without emotions, staring down at the seemingly inert body of the man she loved. But she never ever did give up.

 _Not even McGonagall's firm command was able to drag her out of the hospital wing for more than a lunch and/or a quick shower, so she didn't understand why Pansy even tried. This time, when she came, Hermione was laughing._

 _Why was she laughing?_

 _Simple._

 _Pansy Parkinson wouldn't really have been able to endure her hysterical sobs without starting on it herself, so she ended up suppressing it with harsh laughter, that too, sounded hysterical, but was worn so much better than the enormous tears rolling down on her cheeks._

 _"_ _Hermione?" she approached cautiously, perplexed by her current and quite sudden mirth. She, thankfully, didn't catch on the poor role she forced herself into. "You should come with me, Hermione. It's lunch break."_

 _The deputy Head Girl smiled wryly, her hands covering the trails that the tears left on her skin, "Just after you answer a question," she bargained with strained vocal chords._

 _Pansy was silent for a moment, "Alright, I guess." She didn't need to see her to know she was pouting in dismay at that proposal – but that didn't stop Hermione from asking the very same question she shot at Narcissa._

 _The true Queen of Slytherin coughed awkwardly, "I don't really know why you should ask something like this, those are just colours! But, I guess, I'm with blue."_

 _Hermione sank her teeth in her lower lip in thought, "Why?"_

 _"_ _It reminds me of the night sky. It's beautiful!" The war heroine could hear the dreams and adoration in her capturing and alluring voice. She was tempted to close her eyes and sleep while listening to it. "I love all the constellations and the stars are like gems in the darkness. Seems like they are another reality, frankly. It's romantic – but there's so much more into it than that simple word. I adore the upper world."_

 _To that, Hermione looked down on her own body, hugged around by her weak – only functioning – arm, the tattoos that curled over her skin: Scorpius on her thigh, Cassiopeia across her belly, Taurus in between her shoulder blades, the Canis Major on her right calf, Corvus on her neck, just reaching her collarbone and she felt the burning presence of Draco's constellation on her left cheekbone._

 _She heaved out a strangely calm breath, "Why not maroon though?"_

 _"_ _It's like you, you bloody, reckless Gryffindors."_

 _She didn't need to look at Pansy to know she was sneering at her. It was enough to hear her condescending tone. Maybe, that's why she couldn't stop releasing a genuine laugh – the first in the last three days._

After hours – maybe just a few, six, or maybe more, after twelve or so hours – without eating anything, she felt weightless, dazed and blinked down at Draco with emptiness in her hazel eyes. She didn't want anyone there, she didn't _need_ anyone there. Though, she never said no to Neville, who simply lifted her in his arms. He brought her down from the hundreds of winding staircases, sneaked out of the castle to the Forbidden Forest and placed her in front of her beloved unicorn.

 _Sadness was easy to read in Selene's eyes. Hermione didn't know why she was that bothered, but she tried easing her pain, comforting her and humming the same melody that always played in her head. The unicorn's presence was liberating, she organized her messy thoughts, erased unnecessary future scenarios that scared her to the core and made her believe in something positive._

 _She saw beautiful things, overwhelmingly real things just behind her eyelids and it was all the unicorn's doing. Those touching pictures were enough to make her relax, forget about her problems, her impending death, about Draco and her feelings towards him. It was pure blessing._

 _Are you willing to lose the chance of my love?_

 _She really hoped he wasn't._

 _"_ _Thank you," she muttered; her forehead against Selene's neck as she listened to the enormous creature's calming, slow heartbeats, the way the muscles eased in her body and cherished her hot exhales that stopped her from shivering._

 _Everything was covered in white. And everything screamed at her: she should not be here. Her place was right next to Draco, she knew that much. Are you willing to lose the chance? That he wouldn't wake._

 _She shook her head in denial to stop the annoying record. The lullaby was better. It quietened down the hammering thoughts that kept ricocheting in her head. It was a way better._

 _"_ _I need to ask you something," she muttered and heard an encouraging nickering. She smiled against the thick fur, enjoying the softness – like a plush pony. "Maroon or blue?"_

 _The images that flashed in her head promptly caused her a head ache. She felt like her skull would explode – it was intense, so sudden and came when she was entirely unprepared with the well-known question. Blood, bones, glinting metals, quills and potions, fashionable robes and magical creatures – they were all in her brain for a passing moment. She started smelling different scents with those, oil, gardenias, petrichor, fruits, coffee and something really clean._

 _It felt mixed – pictures didn't belong to the right scents, to the right sounds and it was like a puzzle with a thousand pieces._

 _And just like that, it ended. It was cruel – she gave it to her in a silver platter, but took away all of it before she could have nicked the taste of victory._

 _Selene planted ideas, opportunities, futures in her head, but those didn't show her enough to know which the right colour was. It was confusing, even though it was a simple question: she got answers for and against both, but not the one that she was interested to hear. She wanted to know which one would keep her alive – which version of Vindico Parea was the right._

 _She had seven more days to decide. And the time was ticking – alarmingly fast._

It was the fifth day. The hand in hers didn't look so pale anymore, it didn't feel dead and she was thrilled by the tiny changes in his state. But, during the process, she all but forgot that she lost one more day – now, Hermione only had six more days, if she were not mistaken. And there was still a chance that she, in fact, was.

It was dawn now. The sun had just started rising and its sharp pink and orange colours gave faint glow to the room, even though the pale softness that cuddled her form and kept her warm. She was perched on her usual chair, her hair in a messy bun, her shirt crumpled and she felt utterly worn out. So ugly and careless, worried and unbothered by all that.

Hermione Granger had also lost weight in the last five days, too. Seeing her boney shoulders and spider like fingers, Pansy kept nudging her to food which she expectantly refused, stubbornly attaching herself to the hospital wing, right next to Draco because was she willing to lose that much? And above all, was she willing to lose _him_?

And what was the worst, she was still undecided. Her mind kept playing games with her, when she felt settled on maroon, she, of course, immediately got a new reason why she should chose blue after all, and vice versa. It was maddening.

She turned to Draco's pale form, unkempt silver locks and to those, striking, closed eyes while her thumb kept rubbing his skin as she murmured, "What do you think about colours, Draco?" Her voice was even strange for herself, shaky and forceless, so weak and quiet, "You never told me your favourite. Which you liked the best out of all. I would remember," she promised, trying to keep the tears at bay. "I would remember you answer if you ever gave me one."

Broken. So utterly broken – in shards, tiny pieces and just faintly there, balancing on the edge of insanity and hopelessness. She was definitely not okay, she kept playing, Merlin, did she try to give up, but it would have felt not right – like cheating. Because being dead was easier than dying.

"Answer me somehow," she pleaded, her nails sinking in his skin as she held onto him, fearing to let go, because without that connection, she would be alone, "Answer me Draco, please."

It was helpless. She was helpless.

" _Please_."

It was so faint that at first, she thought, she just imagined it. When it happened the second time though, she decided she must be sure of it! She carefully, unsurely backed away from the laying figure, owlishly blinking down at him, utterly bewildered when facing those tired, quicksilver eyes.

She tested it yet again – squeezed his hand. And he did it again, too! He squeezed back!

When seeing her utterly amazed expression, he cracked a smile – careful and with hidden pain under the mask, but still, it was a smile and it was enough to assure Hermione: he was real, he was there and she should not fear anything anymore. He wasn't willing to lose the chance! He was _alive_!

Her heart thumped with vigour and her hands shook and her eyes blurred and her mind shut down. She was all just raw emotions, everything but sense and so overwhelmed that she cried out in mirth. Hermione felt the lump in her throat, she felt light-headed and she felt so much in the very same moment: relief, fury and happiness, above all.

"You're really here!" she panted in excitement.

She could feel his heartbeat under her palms as she checked him, her fingers running around his arms, above his ribcage and stroked his neck as she told him how much she missed him, how very much she would not be able to live without him and love another.

The words stumbled out of her lips without any effort, surprising even herself with her eased confessions. She felt like her heart beat like drums in a concert – in contrary, he felt like his frozen in action.

Their eyes locked – both just realizing what Hermione had said. It was a moment of silence, of uncertainty mixed with shame and embarrassing waiting for the other's reaction. Draco stared at the brown mess beside his bed as he stared at her with unblinking eyes, from up to down and all the way back. He gulped – and their hearts beat together.

And then, those carefully constructed dams just simply broke down. There was no going back from this point.

* * *

 _If you ever experienced struggle... well, this was a hard chapter. Also, don't be shy, share your thoughts with me - every author is eager to know what you think! It's always a joy to get to know more ways to look at your own stories!_

 _Also, I recently shared a new story, it's actually a one-shot series called Dark Chocolate (which is a one-shot collection for days when you have nothing better to do. Dark chocolate is always bitter, but still a delicious treat - so are the stories in this series. Twisted humour, sweetened aghast and romance, more than skin-deep. Or drabbles that are raw, eerie and edgy. Mostly Dramione, various pairings and AUs.)- check it out if you're interested, it starts with a Hansy story, but there's going to be a dramione up soon, too! :)_

 _My other dramione - Let's play dumb, which is a travelling AU - is dragging because welp, you call that monster school. Sadly, it knocked over my writing schedule - not just my life._

 _Before I forget, you can also find me on tumblr: aischenna dot tumblr dot com. Just saying. ;D_


	37. Thoughts

At first he thought it was nothing but a dream – created by his hazy head and foolish hopes. She, Hermione Granger telling him she loves him? It seemed very next to impossible. He was undecided in the matter and after she left him alone in the hospital wing, Draco spent his time emptily blinking up at the plain ceiling in wonder if it really had happened.

That day, he had a lot running around in his head. He thought about his mother's desperateness as she cried rivers beside his bed, wetting the sheets as she cradled her son and muttered the same prayers he heard when she carved his back open. He thought about the next to hysterical Pansy who threw a lexicon at him, nearly knocking him out once more as she screamed out to the world how big of idiot he was. Then, there was Theo and Blaise – they simply said Pansy was right and gave him a vintage bottle of whiskey. Goyle just sneaked in when he thought he was sleeping and put excessive amount of food – probably stolen from the breakfast table – on his bedside table. Then, nearly all of Slytherin rolled around, silly little girls wishing him fast recovery, boys who thought he should be up soon or else, they would throw him off his throne – not that Draco was concerned about that, it was now meaningless.

Everything seemed meaningless now as he watched the days roll by much like an outsider, absently scribbling something on a parchment and counting the days. It was the eight of January.

Which meant they had five days for preparations.

He grimaced and scribbled some more about Draught of Living Death. It was not an easy potion for an average student, but Draco had learned more about the wizarding chemistry than he did with any other subjects all together. He brewed Vindico Parea, figured out with Snape's help the developed Essence of Spurius' recipe and was in the process of making several other poisons and their cures. Some were easy, some were especially hard… and then, there were his own creations.

They had five days – and they had no time for such silly things as homework.

He threw the luxurious hawk quill down and swiftly got off of the chair. He winced when his arm pulsated with pain – the angry blemishes and scars screamed at him warningly every time he took a too sudden of movement.

It didn't take more than three mere minutes to reach her favourite hiding place: the bathroom that used to be stuffed with boiling potions and plants, now, it was just chaos, he had wrecked. The glass shards glinted up him mockingly in the neighbourhood of knocked over cauldrons and slumped flowers as he stepped into the place, finding her crouched on the ruined sofa. The mess didn't seem to bother her as she looked calm from the outside, evenly breathing and entirely focused on the book. However, Draco noticed the tiny signs that told him different.

She tapped her fingers to the book in every second, rhythmically, her hands slightly trembled as she squeezed the book and she didn't turn the page for three minutes. It was certain she wasn't occupied by the dry historical text, but by some other thing.

Draco was afraid to interrupt her as she looked beautiful bubbled up in her own world, covered by colourful mist and the bright winter sun that still tried, but didn't succeed in warming up the stone castle. She looked like a porcelain doll, without emotions and entirely rigid, as if she had been set in that position, left there, untouched and distant, the victim of an abandoned toy chest.

"Draco," she muttered and he found himself staring in those disturbed, crazy brow eyes of hers. The poor shape of the bathroom just made it more real – her insanity was not just a ploy, Draco was sure.

Just before speaking up, she moistened her dried lips with a subtle lick of her tongue, something Draco couldn't not notice and follow with his own hungry eyes, "I want to taste your smile before I die. Can I?"

She blinked slowly, no emotion showing on her face as those words rolled of her tongue. It was a terrifying sight, her, losing herself to the threat that had been looming over their heads for months now, and when it was time – when they had a breakthrough with Vindico Parea, they still didn't know which of the two version should suffice and not turn to an additional poison in her system. The weight of all this seemed to crack up her brain and tormented her from the inside to the point of wanting to give up. For Merlin, that was just simply _cruel_!

The smile, he didn't even know was on his face, melted down immediately.

"You shouldn't say things like this," he sighed and ran his right hand through his blonde locks. "You remember, right? We don't have time for that." And still, all she did was cutely tilting her head to the side, not following his logic. It was clear his body was screaming for hers, and he kept telling her they shouldn't take that step just now – that they wouldn't have time for that. But really…. what else would they have time for? Just things she now didn't want to do. She didn't want to waste time on useless things – like preparations.

She would just down one of the potions and wait it out. The only real question was if she was able to decide on the right one.

Even unconsciously, she turned her head toward the sinks where the two versions of Vindico Parea stood, bottled up and ready for use. The blue was on the right, the maroon was on the left. Her eyes kept jumping between the two, debating it over and over again.

"Have you decided?" he asked casually as if they were talking about the weather when he noticed her lingering stare. She accepted this easy play of pretending, it was better than asking things from him that he wouldn't do. _He was willing to lose the chance of her love, after all._

She shrugged nonchalantly, trying hard to tamper down the bite in her voice, "Maroon, maybe."

"Why?" He seemed surprised and even his deep, hoarse voice signed that. He snapped his head towards her so quickly that his joints cracked. "And maybe?"

Hermione couldn't stop the coy smile that settled on her lips, " Because it's like dried blood and death and blue is like a deep lake to drown yourself in – something horribly slow. And being dead is easier than dying," she said to his utter shock with a sing-song voice. When he opened his mouth to ask or utter any kind of coherent sentence which he still didn't believe he was able to, she quickly added, "It's from your mom's speech, not my words. And beside that, maybe it's more like me, a bloody Gryffindor."

Draco shifted awkwardly as her simple, twisted words echoed in his head, his eyes automatically finding the tattoo under her left eye as he debated it over. He admired the way it shined in the light, each skin pore covered by the ink shined with different colour and he longed to touch it, just to see the flare of the rainbow over his constellation.

He shook his head in denial, "Is it your final decision?"

Hermione primped her lips comically, as she looked up the ceiling, cracked and dirtied by the magic blast Draco had released, "I have no idea. Do you, though?"

To that, the blonde audibly sighed and for once, didn't hold back the words that he would normally leave unsaid, "You know, if you want to choose the blue, than go for it. I can take care of the rest," he promised and continued immediately when seeing her mouth open to protest, "I'd be able to hold you up. Above water, what I mean," he added awkwardly, not even knowing what he was rambling about.

Hermione's breath hitched to that, her eyes widened like a deer's in headlight and gulped, "Even if you yourself would sink?" she shot and waited with trembling limbs.

It might have been only one word, but for Draco, that was the hardest to say out loud, "Yes."

* * *

 _"_ _Can we be children for the last time?" her voice was raspy and barely audible in the winter night as she inspected the journey they were headed for in the cold._

 _"_ _Sure," he muttered back, both entranced by the their showing breaths as those billowed up to the night sky, clear and full of shiny stars. He smiled a wry smile, "But for that, we need to hurl some hexes at first. We hated each other, back then."_

 _She sagged at that, "That wouldn't be fair," came the sharp, bitter answer. "Be matures instead," she tried to compromise instead and pulled the borrowed, furred cloak over her head. It was nice when the soft hairs stroked her skin and Hermione exhaled contentedly._

 _Draco scowled at that, "It does not fit with sneaking out after curfew."_

 _"_ _The term of curfew shouldn't be in your dictionary if you are an adult, until you have children," she said flippantly and grasping on his hand, she pulled him forward. He understood the cue and started making them a path, swiping the thick layer of snow out of their way with the help of magic. Even though Draco was occupied with firing spells, he never let her out of his sight, watching the healthy redness on her cheekbones and excited gleams in her eyes._

 _For the first time, after so many weeks she was lost, she seemed normal again._

 _"_ _I'd rather we would be ourselves," he said and Hermione tilted her head to the side in interest, "Ourselves, but allied." At that, she nodded approvingly._

 _Because they were together, because he was there to keep her above water._

* * *

It was now obvious that the things changed. They forged from enemies to allies to friends and then, to something more. So much more. It started with cruelty, mockery and biting arguments, sharp and witty that were engaging yes, but destroying too. Then, there were those shaky laughs, fragile touches and shallow breaths. Not to mention the loud sobs, the alcohol, the nightmares and so many mistakes they both had committed.

Then, it was about more than simple things: bonding, attachment, growing feelings that they both hid behind bars and walls and then it was attraction against strong and unwavering wills, but they needed to give up the moment their hearts beat together.

That was the moment when they understood: they fell in love with each other.

It happened gradually, somehow, they just remembered two phases of their relationship: when they hated each other and when they loved each other. There was so much more to that, but that was all they could remember.

It was about feelings, so strong, deep, dark and sometimes light, shallow and easy, but at least they were never in war. Not their feelings.

That was how their bargained had started and ended in something long-lasting that lasted for more than a few months. Deep down, they both know it would last for a life time.

So he tightened his gripped over her hand and with looking straight into her eyes asked, "When do you want to do it?"

Hermione bit down on her lower lip, slowly contemplating the chances she had and the right answer she didn't know of, "Tonight. I want to do it tonight."

He nodded seriously, "Then come with me."

So she did without a second thought, trusting him unconditionally.

 _With you and me, against death. Because they didn't have any more time._

She squeezed his hand back.

* * *

 _"_ _So what will happen to me?" she questioned as her fingers ran over Selene's thick fur. The unicorn sighed at her touch and it instantly calmed her too._

 _It was only the matter of minutes when she took the potion._

 _Draco gulped, "The Antarctic Ice Dragon's crushed scales will stop your circulation, freezing the colloids," he started, and Hermione nodded, she had already figured that one out. "The asphodel will put you in a coma of three to five days, and the dittany…" He ran his hand through his whitewashed hair, trying to fight his unwillingness. He just wanted to end her suffering, just already be done with it – with her being healthy and lively again, her usual, spit-fire self! Although the words still seemed to drag on his throat, "The dittany is for the injury where the poisonous ball would come out of your body, and it could come out at anywhere!" he cautioned not that they had any control over it. "The ball will be stuck together by the crushed amethyst crystals… and Selene's blood," to that, the unicorn perked up, measuring him up with her head in Hermione's lap, "will save you, simply put it – it will stop the bleeding."_

 _Hermione nodded, "Now I'm scared," she muttered and looked down at the bottle next to her tight. She wanted to take it beside Selene, she selfishly wanted her comfort._

 _"_ _I know, I'd be too," Draco muttered and turned away as she lifted up the phial of Vindico Parea to her mouth. Selene never moved an inch as she watched Hermione take gulps, small and slowly, the taste of the potion ashy and bitter. It didn't feel good on her tongue, but she refrained from assuming it a bad sign._

 _Yes, there were a lot of medical potions that tasted like shit. This version of Vindico Parea would help her! – she promised herself half-heartedly as doubts and desperation started clawing their ways in her head._

 _She could feel Selene fight against it – the unicorn showed her vivid picture to deter her from thinking about the worst scenatrios._

 _The bright colours blurred her eyesight as she panted and forced herself to take in more of the blasted potion. She wanted to live, damn it!_

 _"_ _Hermione!" she could faintly hear Draco cry out and for a passing moment she could see those worried, stormy marbles and she smiled weakly._

 _"_ _Draco…" she muttered, feeling a precious drop of the potion roll over her lip, down to the snow she was sitting on. It was so dark that it looked black instead of blue._

 _Her entire body shook while Vindico Parea took its effect on her, she felt her toes go numb – maybe, it was just from the cold, or she hoped –, her head getting heavier and rainbow coloured spots swimming in front of her eyes, she hoped, she hoped even if this was the last moment of her life that it wouldn't take long._

 _She could die, hell, she would be willing to die, just take away this nauseating feeling. It disturbed her stomach as she needed to bent forward to retch up nothing, but saliva and she felt like her lungs were put under several weights. It was terrible even with the unicorn's comforting presence in her head._

 _As the world seemed remoter by every second, Hermione tried to hold on to anything, grab on anything to not die. It couldn't end with tragedy, right? She didn't want to be up there, next to the great Merlin only to see future generation remember the war heroine's, Hermione Jean Granger's death as the Tragedy of Draco Malfoy._

 _He would lose himself – so even for him, he needed to survive._

 _And with that being the last thought, she lost consciousness._

* * *

 _Cliffy before last chapter! Uhuhu! (And also, I'm sorry it didn't come earlier - it dragged on and on because deep down I didn't want to finish this story. I mean, I'm fond of it. But here I am, typing now the last chapter and I just... Yeas, don't want to let it go. Even if Elsa says otherwise.)_


	38. In the tattoo salon (the end)

"Hmm, it's better than I expected," the faceless tattoo artist murmured as he watched Hermione work on her drawing. Her left hand was in a weird angle as she held the pencil between her index finger and her thumb while drawing meticulous lines of a beautiful unicorn, her eyes blurring slightly at the artwork. It was the exact reflection of Selene.

"Thank you," she sighed contentedly.

She hadn't seen Selene. Not since she took Vindico Parea. And nor did Draco. It was strange as just like Estrella, Selene seemed to be erased form the world and even Solana didn't know where her sister was. Ever since that January day when she woke up at St. Mungo's, she had been looking for the magical creature, all in vain. Nothing seemed to fuel forward her investigation, and day by day, she started accepting the fact that she would never see again the disabled unicorn.

There was a fat chance that when she used the potion, it killed Selene. It made sense after all – a life for a life, a cruel, but fair bargain for sure. She shivered at the thought, her grip loosening on the pencil.

After graduating, she decided what she wanted to do with her life that she was given back – she asked Luna, and she nodded on the idea of opening a Tattoo Salon on Diagon. The name was simple: Solar System, scientific, but still understandable enough for anyone of wizarding kind. It was something both Luna and her never ceased to be amazed about – the proof were the numerous constellations adorning her skin.

Hermione decided before the opening tomorrow, she would get her last piece done. So a month after graduation, she was back there at the heart of muggle London, getting the last details of a drawing on Selene. By the end of the day, the whitened, capital letters of the word mudblood would disappear from her skin, and even thinking about it made her giddy in the insides.

"Are you ready?" the faceless artist asked and Hermione nodded, taking her place on the stool as she waited for him to peel of the drawing from the paper. The light buzz of the needle was comforting to her ears, something familiar that she hadn't heard since last summer.

The first sting was the worst – it was always the first. She winced and prayed that the sensation would fade overtime, as now she would be stuck there for five hours at the very least. The tattoo would take up her entire forearm and it would probably hurt for a few days too. Besides the ' _freckles_ ' – as Ron referred to her beloved constellations – she had never get done anything, nothing this enormous or detailed.

She remembered when Draco had his first made two weeks ago – over the hardly perceptible outline of the skull, he asked for a compass that had no needle in the middle. He still kept whining about it, but she was sure he just wanted more attention than she gave to Crooks.

As if Draco needed to do these ridiculous actions! As if he didn't know there would always be a place in her life just for him. Only for him.

She let a smile quirk up her lips, even forgetting about the light sting on her wrist.

The time when she first opened her eyes after taking Vindico Parea, and now every morning, it was always Draco whom she saw first. And it was comforting, knowing that he would be there, heck, would always be there for her, no matter what.

They obviously had mistakes, he was rude and she was vehement, he was cold and she was ever the fire, scorching everything near her. However, the most important thing was that he could love her unconditionally and she could love him back. His arms were her shelter from the world and her hugs meant the world for him. They completed each other, no matter the occasional shouting matches and plates throwing, they worked through every problem and contradiction slowly and gently, not daring to go for the fast and simple, but obviously wrong solutions.

It was perfect for her, even though some days, she just wanted to castrate him for his stupidity. Like the day when she woke up from the ten-day-long coma and be surprised with tears, books on magic and chopsticks. He wanted to help gradually rebuild her strength, with her magic and gaining back the full mobility of her left hand.

Turned out training with chopsticks wasn't entirely idiotic – she had firm control over her fingers now and paired with her knack for arts – she managed to create fine drawings in little time, even though she still had sometimes problem with magic.

After all, it was hard to catch up with the knowledge she had gained during the years in a few months' time.

She scrunched up her face at that thought.

"Is it that bad?" the tattoo artist asked with concern, for a moment stopping to wipe away the blood from her skin. She studied the colour – bright and healthy red. Nothing like mud.

"Um, no, not bad," she said cautiously, the piece of art slowly turning into her beloved unicorn, "Just thinking."

He seemed to amused at her reply as he tutted with his tongue appreciatively, "Now now, I remember you, chit. You wanted a peacock over hat ugly wound of yours, and now, you're going with a magical creature? Do tell why," he encouraged and Hermione smiled, surprised that he did remember.

"I had a rocky year," she answered, "Turned out a peacock would be no competition for a unicorn. Even my boyfriend thinks the same," she confessed and the artist's scathing, usually uncaring, green eyes widened with recognition.

"So you two are together," he asked, but it came out more like a statement. Hermione nodded, not being able to tamper down her grin. "The guy with the bad decisions and you?"

"Yes the whining blonde is my boyfriend."

The tattoo artist snorted at that, not taking away his eyes from the needle as he carefully traced the lines, "Nice catch, chit."

"I know," were the last words she uttered until he finished with Selene's picture and she left the salon and muggle London – for an eternity.

She belonged elsewhere after all, – Hermione thought with a smile – right at the side of Draco's, back in the magical world.

* * *

 _After 122 pages and over 60k words, I can happily announce that A tiny bit broken is now finished. There's gonna be no epilogues after this snippet. It has ended. Thank you for reading and reviewing, I have never got this high numbers in statics before! 3 And I'm sorry if you think this story was a waste of your time or if not, I'm glad you had tagged along in this journey! I would be delighted, if, for the last time, people would share their opinions - because yes, I noticed the numbers going down as a lot of people seemed to lost interest as we went further down the angst-train._

 _Until next time! ;D_

 _Aischenna_


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